LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


m 


OUT    OF    GLOUCESTER 


"That's  one  end  of  the  stays'l  halliards." 


OUT  OF 
GLOUCESTER 


BY 

JAMES   B.    CONNOLLY 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 


CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
NEW   YORK:::::::::::::::::i903 


COPYRIGHT,  igoa,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published,  October,  igoa 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

MINTING  AND  BOOKBINDINa  COMPAMT 
NIW   v  •  >. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  CHASE  OVERNIGHT i 

ON  THE  ECHO  o'  THE  MORN 31 

FROM  REYKJAVIK  TO  GLOUCESTER 69 

A  FISHERMAN  OF  COSTLA 93 

TOMMIE  OHLSEN'S  WESTERN  PASSAGE  .     .     .     .131 
CLANCY 191 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


''That's  one  end  of  the  stays' 1  halyards"    .     .  Frontispiece 


FACING 


She's  an  able,  handsome  lady,  PAGE 

And  she's  go-o-ing  home 10 

"I  cuts  away  the  starboard  oar  below"        .      .      .      .  58 

The  "Crow's  Nest" 72 

Leapin'  from  the  top  of  one  sea  to  the  top  of  another  .  86 

"Pole  her  off  to  the  end  of  the  quay  " 104 

"Look   across   now,"   said   Gerald,    "that's  Arran   you 

see  ahead " no 

"Any  worse  than  the  one  you  got  on  now?"       .     .262 


A    CHASE    OVERNIGHT 


Lights  out  and  southern  courses, 
Let  her  head  come  'round, 

Devil  take  the  British  forces— 
Here's  the  Echo,  homeward  bound. 

She  left  Egg  Isle  at  sunset, 

And  to  Le  Have  at  dawn 
A-sailin'   down  the  wind 

Came  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn. 

Two  cutters  and  a  cruiser 

Chased  the  Echo  on  her  way— 
They  said  :    "  She  can't  get  by  us, 

We'll  get  her' in  the  Bay." 

— (From  the  ballad  of  "  The  Echo  o'  the  Morn.") 


A  Chase  Overnight 

THE  Gloucester  seining  fleet  had  been  cruis 
ing  off  Georges  Bank,  when  one  of  those 
New  England  north-easters  came  swooping  down 
on  them.  Thereupon,  as  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  by  hanging  on  (you  cannot  set  for  mack 
erel  in  a  gale),  every  vessel  in  the  fleet  made  fast 
its  dory  in  the  waist,  looked  to  the  painter  of 
the  seine-boat  astern,  and  then  seventy  or  eighty 
seiners  took  on  a  beautiful  slant  and  made  a  roar 
ing  regatta  of  it  to  Provincetown,  the  nearest  port 
of  refuge. 

In  the  early  morning  hours  this  gale  had  struck 
in  on  Georges.  It  was  somewhere  along  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  when  the  first  of  the  fleet 
showed  their  noses  past  the  little  light-house  that 
marks  the  entrance  to  the  harbor  of  Province- 
town.  One  after  the  other  they  came  leaping 
past  the  light.  It  was  a  quick  look  to  see  how 
things  lay,  a  haul  over  for  one  last  leg,  a  rush 
across  the  harbor,  a  shoot  into  the  wind,  and 
then,  after  the  fashion  of  tired  gulls  with  wet 


A  Chase  Overnight 

wings,  a  lowering  of  sodden  sails  and  a  thankful 
settling  into  handy  anchorages. 

By  dusk  of  this  stormy  day  most  of  the  sein 
ing  fleet  was  safely  in.  Of  this  Provincetown  was 
soon  made  aware,  for  among  these  ten  or  twelve 
hundred  robust  fishermen  there  had  to  be  the 
inevitable  boisterous  percentage  with  some  tor 
menting  energy  to  work  off  and  with  no  desire  to 
be  hushed.  Such  started  in  at  sundown ;  and 
from  then  on,  until  dawn  of  next  morning  in 
many  cases,  they  did  what  they  could  to  keep 
that  staid  hamlet  from  drifting  into  a  too  early 
sleep. 

But,  after  all,  only  a  small  number  of  the  fisher 
men  were  of  the  riotous  kind.  The  greater  part, 
indeed,  were  sensible  men,  who  preferred  to  stay 
aboard  their  own  vessel  for  the  evening,  or  to 
drop  over  and  see  an  old  shipmate  or  two  on 
some  other  craft  near  by.  These  knew  of  old 
the  delights  of  a  fo'c's'le  night  in  a  snug  harbor, 
with  no  watch  to  keep,  no  work  to  do ;  where 
you  have  only  to  talk  or  listen,  to  "  smoke  up  " 
and  "  mug  up  "  ;  to  keep  your  pipe  going  and  to 
help  yourself  to  hot  coffee  off  the  stove  and  good 
grub  out  of  the  locker;  to  enjoy  yourself  to  the 
utmost  in  that  region  of  bliss,  where  there  is  no 
hurry  and  all  things  are  dry ;  to  let  your  soul 
simmer  in  that  delicious  atmosphere  of  tuneful 

4 


A  Chase  Overnight 

song,  stirring  story,  and  reflective  blue  smoke ;  to 
harken  to  the  wailing  of  the  winds  without  and 
to  know,  in  delightful,  reposeful  security  no  less, 
that  this  time  they  are  wailing  for  somebody  else. 

These  deep-sea  fishermen,  in  their  heartiness 
of  hospitality,  are  the  chosen  of  the  Lord.  With 
them,  the  best  in  the  locker  is  ever  ready  for  the 
caller,. be  he  castaway  stranger,  chance  acquaint 
ance,  or  cherished  friend.  Of  the  ways  of  their 
mates  all  fishermen  are,  of  course,  aware.  And 
so,  when  two,  who  had  been  mildly  celebrating 
ashore,  dropped  into  their  dory  at  the  end  of  a 
long,  planked  dock,  and  set  out  in  the  direction 
of  the  harbor  lights  in  Provincetown  this  night,  it 
is  likely  that  they  were  anticipating  an  agreeable 
finish  to  their  evening.  It  was  only  midnight  and 
there  were  yet  some  cheering  hours  to  sun-up, 
when,  by  skippers'  orders,  the  seining  fleet  would 
be  standing  out  to  sea  again. 

One  of  these  two  was  a  big  man,  "  able-look 
ing,"  a  fisherman  would  have  said ;  the  build  of 
the  other  signified  less.  The  big  man  was  easily 
in  command.  He  sat  on  the  after  thwart,  set  the 
stroke,  directed  all  movements,  and  attended  to 
the  hailing.  It  was  well  he  owned  a  voice  of  rare 
power ;  one  of  only  moderate  force  would  have 
succumbed  early  to  the  opposition  of  the  shriek 
ing  gale  and  the  reluctance  of  comfortable  people 

5 


A  Chase  Overnight 

below  to  come  up  and  answer  bothersome  ques 
tions. 

They  were  looking,  it  would  seem,  for  that 
reliable  craft,  the  William  Walker,  which  all  men 
should  know  by  her  new-painted  green  sides, 
with  gold  stripe  along  the  run,  white  mast-heads, 
and  blue  seine-boat  towing.  But  a  description 
dealing  merely  in  color  is  but  a  poor  guide  at 
night,  as  many,  many  disturbed  crews  explained. 

When  the  two  left  the  long  dock,  the  position 
of  the  William  Walker  had  been  plainly  defined. 
"  No'west  by  nothe — about ;  and  ten  minutes 
steady  rowin* —  about."  Could  anything  be 
clearer  ?  So,  when  the  two  set  out,  their  confi 
dence  had  been  a  perfect  thing.  The  big  man, 
indeed,  taking  account  of  the  blackness,  had  said : 
"  We  don't  even  need  to  get  near  enough  to  see 
her,  Martin.  Just  a  smell  of  her  and  we'll  know 
her "  which  was  possibly  true,  but  unfortu 
nately,  as  was  explained  later,  the  wind  was  off 
shore  that  night. 

So  round  and  round  they  rowed.  The  big 
man  threw  his  voice  into  the  recesses  of  comfort 
able  bunks,  and  from  these,  wrathful  men,  who 
desired  not  to  be  disturbed,  had  to  climb  out 
and  ascend  to  rain-swept  decks,  to  answer  curi 
ous  questions  as  to  the  location  of  a  lively  schoon 
er,  the  William  Walker  by  name,  with  green- 

6 


A  Chase  Overnight 

painted  sides  and  gold  stripe  along  the  run,  with 
white  mast-heads,  and  blue  seine-boat  towing. 
The  searchers  were  treated  to  some  plain  lan 
guage  after  the  first  round  of  their  uncertain 
route,  notably  from  over  the  rails  of  that  bunch 
of  fine,  able  fishermen,  the  Eliza  Parkhurst,  the 
Norumbega,  the  Grayling,  the  Harry  Belden,  the 
Richard  Wainright,  all  of  Gloucester,  and  par 
ticularly  when  they  disturbed  the  slumbers  of 
those  redoubtable  old  hookers,  the  Herald  of  the 
Morning  and  the  Good  Will  to  Men,  also  of 
Gloucester,  from  where,  it  is  said,  they  hailed  as 
privateersmen  in  their  palmy  days. 

The  two  men  in  the  dory  had  made  the  fleet 
pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  distinguishing 
marks  of  their  vessel,  with  the  green-painted  sides 
and  the  gold  stripe  along  the  run,  with  the  white 
mast-heads  and  the  blue  seine-boat  towing,  but 
to  no  effect ;  and  many  times  had  they  robustly 
hailed,  "  Aho-oy  the  Wil-1-liam  Walker,"  but  no 
William  Walker  rose  up  to  greet  them  from  out 
of  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

It  was  while  they  were  waiting  for  the  anathe- 
matic  responses  from  the  deck  of  the  Good  Will 
to  Men  (it  was  the  third  series  from  her  deck), 
waiting  for  the  voice  of  wrath  to  die  down  the 
wind,  that  the  big  man  came  to  a  final  decision. 

Resting  dejectedly  on  his  oars,  the  big  man 
7 


A  Chase  Overnight 

said:  "  Seventy-odd  seiners  here  and  every  blessed 
one  of  'em  with  a  riding-light  up,  and  which  is 
ours,  Martin  ?  It's  as  bad  as  the  candles  and  the 
lookin'-glasses  goin'  'round,  ain't  it  ?  Look  at 
'em." 

"  Yes,  'tis  kind  of  puzzlin*.  What'll  we  do 
now  ? " 

"  Do  ?  We'll  go  aboard  the  next  vessel  we 
find  awake.  We  made  a  good  try  and  even  the 
skipper  couldn't  kick  now.  Pick  out  any  one 
where  there's  a  light  below  and  we'll  go  aboard." 
"  Well,  there's  a  fellow  to  wind'ard.  I  can't 
see  onto  her  deck  from  here,  but  they  must  have 
a  light  below,  for  they're  noisy  enough  for  a 
christening.  Listen  to  'em." 

"Yes.    What's  that  they're  singin' ?   Catch  it?" 

"  Wait ;  they'll  start  again.     There,  hear  it  ?  " 

Being  to  the  leeward  of  the  vessel  indicated, 

the  words  came  clearly  enough  to  the  men  in  the 

dory  when  they  stopped  rowing  for  a  stroke  or  two. 

She's  the  schooner  Lucy  Foster, 
She's  a  seiner  out  of  Gloucester, 
She's  an  able,  handsome  lady, 
She  can  go. 

The  song  seemed  to  inspire  the  big  man.  He 
at  once  set  a  stroke  that  made  his  dory  mate  pant. 
He  explained  by  saying,  "  Martin,  boy,  but  I 
must  get  into  that.  I  don't  know  who  they  are, 

8 


A  Chase  Overnight 

but  I  used  to  be  seine-heaver  on  the  Lucy.  Hit 
her  up."  He  put  his  broad  back  into  the  row 
ing  and  hummed  the  words  while  the  chorus 
went  on : 

The  way  she'll  walk  to  wind'ard, 
You  would  think  that  nothing  hindered. 
She's  an  able,  handsome  lady, 
See  her  go. 

That  brought  them  to  the  side  of  the  vessel. 
The  big  man  was  over  the  rail  with  a  vault  and  a 
"  Look  to  the  painter,  you,  Martin."  Onward 
v/ent  the  fo'c's'le  choir  : 

For — 

She  can  sail  to  set  you  crazy, 
Not  a  timber  in  her's  lazy, 
She's  the  handsome  Lucy  Foster 

And  she's  go-o-ing  home. 

The  big  man  was  down  the  gangway  in  time  to 
swell  the  great  tide  that  surged  up  to  all  throats 
for  that  last  line. 

"And  she's  go-o-ing  home,"  he  roared.  "  That 
was  the  girl,  the  Lucy.  Hulloh,  Johnnie  Hardy  ! 
When'd  you  get  in  ?  Hulloh,  Dannie — hulloh, 
Mike — hulloh,  Ezra — hulloh,  everybody.  Drive 
her  again,  boys.  Drive  her  now."  He  swirled 
his  great  arm  through  the  thick  smoke  by  way  of 
marking  time,  and  the  whole  fo'c's'le,  waving 
pipes  or  mugs  to  add  emphasis,  followed  him  with 

9 


A   Chase  Overnight 

extreme  unction.  Men  sitting  on  lockers,  men 
lounging  in  bunks,  men  standing  by  the  galley 
stove,  made  a  stop  in  their  eating,  drinking,  or 
smoking,  to  add  vigor  to  the  chant : 

When  she  swings  the  main  boom  over 
And  she  feels  the  wind  abaft, 
The  way  she'll  walk  to  Gloucester' 11 
Make  a  steamer  look  a  raft. 

"  Hurroo,  fellows !  Drive  her !  Here's  the 
best  part  of  it.  Now  ! 

Oh,  the  Lucy's  left  the  ground, 
And  there's  nothing  standing  'round 
Can  hold  the  Lucy  Foster 
When  the  Lucy's  homeward  bound. 

"  She  was  the  girl,  I  tell  you ;  warn't  she,  John 
nie  Hardy?  All  hands,  now,  heave  away  and 
help  the  Lucy  home.  Now  then — whoop  ! 

For  she's  the  Lucy  Foster, 
She's  a  seiner  out  of  Gloucester, 
She's  an  able,  handsome  lady, 

And  she's  go-o-ing  home. 

"  That's  what,  boys.  Let  Martin  and  me 
mug  up  and  get  over  near  the  fire  to  dry  out,  and 
we'll  have  it  again." 

"And  when  did  you  get  in,  Steve  Perkins?" 
shouted  an  uproarious  half-dozen  at  once. 

"  Just  afore  dark.  But  we  went  ashore,  Mar 
io 


-   6 


A  Chase  Overnight 

tin  and  me,  and  we've  been  pulling  all  over  the 
bay  tryin'  to  find  the  William  Walker  again. 
Seen  anything  of " 

"  Aho-o-oy,  aho-o-oy!  "  roared  Hardy.  "Seen 
anything  of  the  William  Walker  'round  here? 
Green-painted  sides,  with  a  gold  stripe  along  the 
run,  white  mast-heads,  and  a  little  blue  seine-boat 
towin'  ?  Ho,  ho,"  roared  Hardy. 

"  Blessed  Lord  !     How'd  you  know  ? " 

"How?  Have  we  no  ears,  man  ?  And  that 
was  you,  Steve  ?  If  we'd  known,  we'd  have  hove 
you  a  line.  But  we  only  says,  '  Who  in  hell's 
that  crazy  man  ? '  and  didn't  mind." 

"  That  so  ?     Well,  what  vessel's  this  ? " 

"  Henry  Clay  Parker." 

"  No  ?     The  old  Henry  Clay  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  old  Henry  C.  Been  fixed  up 
down  here  a  bit.  New  woodwork  here  and 
there,  and  a  few  planks  for'ard  since  that  last 
jam-up  she  had.  Changed  her  looks  some  inside 
here,  but  she's  the  same  old  Henry  you  used  to 
know,  Steve." 

"  Good  old  Henry.  The  only  vessel  that 
ever  beat  the  Lucy.  Remember  that,  Johnnie? " 

"  M-m — .  That  was  a  race,  that  one.  I  was 
telling  the  boys  here  awhile  ago — the  date 
brought  it  up — and  I  got  started  telling  what  the 
Lucy  could  do.  Five  year  ago  to-night  it  was, 

IX 


A  Chase  Overnight 

Steve,  and  a  night  like  to-night,  outside.  Blow? 
M-m ." 

"It  did  blow,  didn't  it?  There's  lots  of  us 
glad  to  be  here  to-night  with  our  gear  safe ;  but 
that  night  we  came  through  with  everything 
that'd  hang  onto  the  hoops,  didn't  we,  John 
nie  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  And  it's  queer  now,  Steve,  you 
was  on  the  Parker  that  time  and  I  was  on  the 
Lucy." 

"Yes;  you  with  the  Irishman  and  me  with 
Billie  Simms.  There  was  a  desp'rate  pair  of 
fishermen  for  carryin'  sail,  Billie  and  the  Irish 
man,  and  if  an  able  seaman  ever  sailed  out  of 
Gloucester  (and  there's  been  one  or  two  out  of 
there,  I  guess),  there  was  a  pair  of  'em.  And 
that  Irishman  could  sail  a  vessel,  couldn't  he  ?  " 

"Could  he?  Man,  but  he  was  a  driver. 
But  he  was  pretty  shrewd,  too,  Stevie,  outside  of 
sailin'  a  vessel.  He'd  molded  in  thirty  tons  of 
lead  next  to  her  keel  'bout  a  month  before  that 
race,  prayin'  to  catch  the  Parker  in  a  breeze." 

"  Didn't  we  hear  of  it  ?  And  when  Billie  put 
into  Halifax  two  trips  before  that — that  time  he 
said  he'd  have  to  get  a  new  seine — didn't  he 
make  it  his  particular  business  to  lay  pig-iron 
enough  under  her  floor  to  stiffen  a  kettle-bot 
tomed  coaster  ?  Oh,  you  never  heard  anybody 

12 


A  Chase  Overnight 

say,  I  guess,  that  Billie  Simms  didn't  have  all  his 
senses  any  time,  did  you  ?  And  so,  when  the 
Lucy  stood  down  to  us  that  evenin',  Billie  began 
to  grin  to  himself,  for  he  knew  what  the  Irish 
man  was  after." 

"  I  mind  the  time  well,  Stevie.  The  Irishman 
sings  out :  *  Hello,  Billie,  you'll  be  headin'  to 
the  west'ard  soon  by  the  look  o'  things  ? ' 

"  l  Pretty  soon,  perhaps,'  says  Billie. 

" f  That's  what  I  was  thinkin','  says  the  Irish 
man,  'with  this  nice  little  breeze  working  easth- 
erly.  I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  run  to  market  my 
self.  And  I  says  to  myself,  now  I've  got  a  couple 
of  hundred  barrels  nice  fat  mackerel  below,  and, 
by  the  looks  o'  things,  Billie  Simms  he's  got  a 
couple  of  hundred,  too.  Why,  we  ought  to  be 
fine  company  goin'  home,  thinks  I,  and  while 
we're  about  it,  we  might  try  tacks  on  the  way 
home,  or  have  a  fine  run  of  it,  if  the  wind  stays 
eastherly.' 

" '  You  mean  you  want  to  race  the  Lucy  again 
the  Henry  ? '  says  Billie. 

" c  Och,  no.  'Tisn't  me  would  be  wantin*  to 
make  such  a  boast  as  to  sail  the  little  Lucy  agin 
a  big,  able  vessel  like  the  Par-r-ker,  Billie.' 

"  And  mind  you,  Stevie,  they  were  the  one 
tonnage — the  Lucy  a  bit  deeper,  but  the  Hemy 
a  mite  wider. 

13 


A  Chase  Overnight 

" '  When  it  comes  to  heavy  weather,'  goes  on 
the  blarneyin'  Irishman,  *  the  whole  fleet  knows 
the  Par-r-ker,  but  just  for  the  pure  love  of  it,  or 
for  a  bit  of  money,  if  you  like  it  better,  we  might 
satisfy  ourselves  on  a  disputed  p'int  or  two  of 
sailinY 

" '  You  mean  to  race  from  here  to  Boston — to 
T  wharf? '  asked  Billie. 

"  *  Well,  now,  it  might  look  like  a  race,  but 
seein'  that  it's  fair  wind  comin'  and  we're  both 
goin'  to  market  anyway,'  and  the  Irishman  and 
Billie  went  on — you  know  how  they  went  on, 
Stevie." 

"  Yes.  They  both  wanted  to  race  bad  enough, 
but  the  Irishman  wanted  to  have  it  to  say  after 
ward  that  he  didn't  come  lookin'  for  a  race,  and 
Billie  wanted  to  make  it  look  as  though  the 
Irishman  caught  him  kind  of  unready  like  and 
forced  him  into  it — there'd  be  more  credit  in 
winning,  if  they  could  make  people  believe  some 
thing  like  that. 

"  And  both  of  them  primed  for  it,  with  ballast 
just  right  for  a  blow,  and  fish  and  salt  stowed  a& 
careful  below  as  if  it  was  for  th'  America's  cup. 
Well,  to  shorten  up  the  story,  boys,  they  bet 
their  share  of  the  trip ;  that  is,  what  would  be 
coming  to  them  from  their  share  as  one  of  the 
crew,  their  skipper's  percentage  and  their  share 


A  Chase  Overnight 

as  owner — each  of  them  owned  half  his  vessel. 
That  was  it,  warn't  it,  Johnnie  ?  " 

"  That's  right.  Twelve  hundred  and  odd  dol 
lars  apiece  put  up  on  that  race.  And  the  Irishman 
thought  it  was  just  as  good  as  his  before  they 
started  at  all.  When  we  put  after  the  Parker,  he 
says :  f  B'ys,  there'll  be  somethin*  for  all  hands 
out  o'  this.  Nobody  turns  in  to-night.  Crack 
everything  onto  her  now,  when  she  comes  about — 
tops'ls,  stays'l,  big  jib  and  balloon — and  we'll  put 
after  the  Par-r-ker.  There's  a  man  knows  the 
Georges,  Billie  Simms.  He'll  do  for  our  pilot  and 
we'll  keep  him  in  sight/  The  Irishman  was  only 
two  years  out  of  Galway  then,  and  he  wasn't  ac 
quainted  with  the  Banks  like  your  skipper,  Steve." 

"  As  far  as  that  went,  Johnnie,  there  warn't 
many  of  'em  knew  the  Georges  like  old  Billie. 
And  you'd  better  believe  that  when  Billie  'greed 
to  race  he  knew  just  what  he  was  about.  He 
had  no  sentimental  notions  about  the  Henry 
Clay.  He  knew  well's  anybody  that  the  Parker 
couldn't  hold  the  Lucy  Foster  in  fair,  straight 
sailin'.  He  said  as  much  when  he  pointed  her 
up  and  takes  a  look  at  the  Lucy  over  into  the 
wind  astern. 

" {  Boys,'  says  Billie,  '  it's  goin*  to  be  a  gale  in 
a  hurry,  the  way  things  is  lookin*  now.  And 
there  ain't  no  vessel  of  her  tonnage  afloat  '11  beat 

15 


A  Chase  Overnight 

the  Lucy  Foster  into  port  with  the  Irishman 
aboard  in  heavy  weather.  They  talk  about  her 
bein'  a  summer-weather  boat  and  all  that  sort  of 
foolishness,  but  I  know  better.  She'll  stand  up 
if  she's  druv  to  it  and  there's  the  man'll  drive  her 
to  it.  But  for  all  that  we'll  come  pretty  near 
beatin'  the  Irishman  t'night.  Put  her  kites  on 
and  let  her  roll  into  it.  We'll  hang  onto  'em's 
long's  we  can.' 

"  So  we  put  on  every  stitch  and  she  began  to 
roll  into  it  for  fair.  We  could  just  make  out  the 
Lucy  then.  That  was  about  seven  o'clock  and 
we'd  just  got  our  lights  up." 

"  I  remember  it,  Steve.  We  was  trailin'  your 
green  light's  close  as  we  could.  The  Irishman 
said  he  was  going  to  stay  on  your  quarter  till  we 
were  off  the  Banks.  Once  clear  of  the  shoals  he 
said  he  was  goin'  to  say  good-by." 

"  Yes.  Billie  figured  the  Irishman'd  play  it 
about  that  way.  You  know  what  real  shoal  spots 
there  is  all  along  to  the  west'ard  of  where  we 
were  then.  Billie  knew  them  so  well  that  he  had 
a  chart  of  his  own.  He  had  things  down  on  that 
chart  that  weren't  down  on  any  gover'ment  chart. 
Soon's  we  got  fair  away  he  gave  me  the  wheel 
and  went  down  and  got  out  that  private  chart  of 
his  and  began  to  study  it  on  the  cabin  floor.  He 
had  the  lead  kept  goin',  too.  Billie  was  a  'genious 

16 


A  Chase  Overnight 

cuss  with  charts.  He  had  red,  blue,  and  green 
colored  ink  on  this  one  for  difPrent  shoals.  One 
bad  shoal  was  all  in  red ;  sixteen  feet  of  water's 
all  there  was  there.  Billie  kept  his  finger  on  that 
spot  a  long  time  and  studied  all  'round  it. 
Every  once  in  a  while  he'd  sing  out,  '  See  what's 
under  us  now,'  and  Archie  Nickerson'd  heave 
the  lead  and  sing  out  what  it  was  there.  And 
Billie'd  say,  '  Keep  her  as  she  is  for  a  while, 
Steve,'  and  I'd  keep  her  jammed  up  to  it,  almost 
due  no'the — 'bout  half  a  point  east.  We  was 
certainly  goin'  along  then. 

"  Bime-by,  Billie  comes  up  from  his  chart  and 
takes  a  look  at  the  bottom  of  the  lead  and  begins 
to  study.  Pretty  soon  he  sings  out  all  at  once  : 
*  Stand  ready  to  blow  out  the  side-lights  when  I 
give  the  word — a  man  to  each  and  both  together. 
Steve,' — he  turns  to  me — 'you  and  me'll  hold 
the  wheel  the  rest  of  this  night.  We'll  let  her 
go  off  now  four  points  good.  Yes,  more  yet — 
there — 'bout  no'west.  Let  her  run  that  way. 
Now  let  that  lead  go  again  there.  We'll  shake 
up  the  Irishman  afore  a  great  while.' 

"Then  the  lead  goes  and  we  gets  twenty 
fathom.  Pretty  soon  comes  fifteen  fathom. 
Then  it  comes  fourteen,  thirteen — twelve — eleven 
— ten-n-n.  When  it  got  to  ten  fathom  it  held 
awhile.  We  was  thinkin'  you  fellows  on  the 


A  Chase  Overnight 

Lucy,  Johnnie,  was  feelin'  kind  o'  queer  'bout 
then — ten  fathom  and  shoalin'.  Of  course  you 
kept  the  lead  goin'  ? 

"You  better  believe  we  kept  it  goin'  and 
watched  it  comin'.  When  it  got  down  to  ten 
fathom  the  Irishman  began  to  get  interested. 
4  Ten  fathom,  is  it  ? '  he  says.  '  Faith,  it's  deep 
enough  in  itself,  but  that's  gin'rally  as  shoal  as  I 
sail  my  own  vessel  at  night  in  a  blow  on  Georges. 
But  Billie  knows  where  he's  goin'  or  if  he  don't, 
then  he  ought  to.'  Then  we  got  nine  fathom. 
He  didn't  say  anything.  When  it  came  eight,  he 
didn't  open  his  head,  either;  but  he  begins  to 
watch  the  compass  and  from  that  to  lookin'  ahead 
after  the  Parker's  green  light — we  could  see  your 
starboard  light  all  the  time,  we  being  to  wind'ard. 
When  it  comes  seven  fathom,  he  begins  to  get 
warmed  up.  '  Blessed  Mother,'  he  says,  *  but 
Billie  Simms  will  be  taking  us  off  Georges  by  a 
short  cut.  Keep  the  lead  hove  and — up  for'ard 
there — don't  lose  sight  of  the  Par-r-ker's  light.' ' 

"  And  how'd  he  take  it  when  it  got  still 
shoaler  ? " 

"When  we  sings  out  'Si-i-ix/  he  only  says 
*  Skatin'  pur-rty  close,  that,  b'ys.'  And  then  we 
says  '  Fi-i-ive,'  and  we  roars  it  out,  because  we 
were  beginning  to  get  worried,  knowing  the  des- 
p'rate  kind  of  a  man  he  was.  But  he  only  walks 

18 


A  Chase  Overnight 

backward  and  for'ard,  nervous  like,  between  the 
house  and  the  rail  to  wind'ard  and  says,  c  Well, 
b'ys,  it's  but  six  inches  in  draught  betune  us,  and 
what's  six  inches  ? — where  there's  a  channel  for 
the  Par-r-ker  we'll  find  one  for  the  Lucy.  Hould 
as  near  in  her  wake  as  you  can  ' — to  Archie  Drum 
at  the  wheel.  *  Don't  let  her  light  get  away  from 
you,  Archie  b'y,  or  we'll  be  bakin'  in  pur-r-gatory 
before  mor-r-nin'.' 

"  Then  we  sung  out — c  Fo-our  and  a  ha-a-alf-f ! ' 
and  then — c  Fo-o-our-r  !  Thre-e-e  and  a  ha-a-alf-f, 

THRE-E-E     AND     A     HA-A-ALF-F  ' WC     hollered     it 

twice,  just  to  wake  him  up  to  it.  In  twenty-one 
feet  of  water  and  it  shoalin'  and  we  drawin'  fif 
teen  !  and  goin'  into  it  at  about  fourteen  knots 
an  hour.  The  Irishman  runs  for'ard  at  that, 
jumps  into  the  fore  riggin'  and  looks  ahead.  We 
gets  three  fathom.  We  roared  it  out  so  you 

could  hear  us  a  mile,  I  guess,  and  then " 

"  The  Parker's  lights  went  out,  Johnnie." 
"  Yes,  just  then  I  guess  it  was,  Stevie ;  for  the 
lookout  hollered  out  somethin*  and  the  Irishman 
comes  jumpin'  back  aft. 

" f  Hard  up,  hard  up  ! '  he  yells  to  Archie. 
'  Swing  her  off,  swing  her  off,  the  Parker's  gone 
under — Billie  drove  her  to  it,  by  hell !  Swing 
her  off,  or  we'll  find  bottom  too  !  Let  jibs,  tops'l, 
and  stays'l  tacks  and  sheets  run !  Turn  loose 

19 


A  Chase  Overnight 

balloon  halliards  and  take  in  on  downhaul !  Stand 
by  to  ease  fore  and  main  sheets !  Jump  to  it, 
b'ys,  jump  to  it ! '  Well,  sir,  I  don't  know  what 
ever  saved  that  vessel  from  capsizing  with  the 
sail  she  had  on.  We  worked  like  streaks,  but 
she  had  to  come  'round  in  a  hurry,  and  the  way 
that  the  Irishman  and  Archie  at  the  wheel  drove 
them  spokes  up  was  a  caution. 

"  She  laid  over  to  it  till  the  sea  was  in  the  com 
panion-way.  She  laid  over  so  fast  that  we  thought 
it  was  all  up — rolled  over  on  her  side,  and  so  fast 
that  Archie  Drum  let  go  the  wheel ;  let  go  and 
would  have  left  it  altogether,  only  the  Irishman 
grits  out :  c  Hang  on,  man,  hang  on.  Blessed 
Mother !  don't  you  know  better  than  to  let  her 
come  up  with  all  that  water  on  her  deck  ?  Hold 
her  to  it  till  she  gets  a  chance  to  roll  it  over  the 
way  it  came ! '  Yes,  sir,  that  was  the  Irishman 
for  you.  He  let  her  have  it  for  fair — buried  her 
under  it.  We  grabbed  hold  of  ring-bolts  and 
sheets  to  keep  from  sliding  overboard  to  looard. 
But  she  came  up.  *  I  knew  she'd  come,'  says 
he,  '  for  'twas  meself  that  saw  to  her  ballast  and 
she  had  to  come,  b'ys — if  the  ballast  didn't  shift.' 
She  was  sure  enough  a  vessel  and  we  didn't  blame 
the  skipper  then  for  the  way  he  was  stuck,  on  her. 
But  what  did  you  fellows  do  on  the  Parker  then., 
Steve?" 

20 


A  Chase  Overnight 

"  Well,  when  we  saw  the  Lucy's  port  light 
work  out  of  sight  and  then  the  green  light  go 
swingi n'  across  our  stern  and  then  the  port  light 
again  go  tearin'  away  from  us,  we  knew  how  it  had 
been  on  the  Lucy.  How  Billie  cackled  !  '  There,' 
he  says,  '  he's  the  Mad  Irishman,  sure  enough ; 
but  I'll  bet  something  nice  that  them  three-fathom 
soundings  and  our  lights  goin'  out  with  it  made 
him  hop.  Ho,  ho  !  and  another  cable  length 
and  he'd  been  clear  over  it  and  in  water  as  safe  as 
the  middle  of  the  Atlantic.'  Then  Billie  ordered 
in  the  light  sails.  '  We've  been  takin'  too  many 
chances  with  them,  tryin'  to  set  a  pace  for  the 
Lucy.'  And  then  what  do  you  suppose  he  did  ? 
Headed  her  more  westerly  than  she  was  before. 
Yes,  sir  ;  west  no'west — straight  for  Cape  Cod. 
There  was  a  short  cut  for  you.  f  And  hold  that 
course  till  we're  by  Highland  Light,'  he  says, 
'  and  then  we'll  put  her  straight's  she'll  go  for 
Minot's.  Ha,  ha ! '  laughs  Billie.  We  could 
hear  him  above  the  wind — l  Think  of  the  Irish 
man  beatin'  to  the  no'th'ard  and  we  gettin*  it  two 
points  abaft  the  beam  under  all  we  can  carry  ! 
Ha,  ha  ! '  My,  but  Billie  laughed." 

"  Yes,  and  we'd  ha'  been  beatin'  to  the  no'th 
'ard  yet,  I  guess,  Steve,  if  the  Irishman  hadn't 
got  to  thinkin'  over  the  way  the  Parker  went  out 
of  sight.  It  was  gettin'  on  toward  midnight. 

21 


A  Chase  Overnight 

We'd  shortened  sail  after  we  thought  the  Parker 
went  down,  and  we  was  feelin'  pretty  blue,  thinkin' 
of  all  you  fellows  gone.  We  were  all  up  on  deck, 
when  all  of  a  sudden  the  Irishman  began  to  swear. 
He  was  swearin'  so  fast  that  we  couldn't  keep  up 
with  him — half  of  it  in  Irish. 

"  *  Let  her  wear  'round,'  he  yells,  to  Dannie 
Hickey  at  the  wheel.  '  Let  her  come  'round  till 
the  wind's  over  the  quarther.  Put  her  west  half 
no'the — that  will  be  bringin'  us  to  Highland 
Light.  I  don't  believe  that  dom  Billie  Simms  is 
gone  down  at  all.  Cr-a-ack  on  all  she's  got  now, 
b'ys.  We'll  get  them  yet,  we'll  get  the  divils 
yet.  Would  you  think  a  Christian  would  play 
such  a  thrick  ?  But  we'll  get  them,  we'll  have 
them  be  mor-r-nin'.  We'll  show  them  yet  what 
the  little  gur-rl  can  do.' ' 

"  You  must  have  come  then,  Johnnie  ?  " 
"  Come  ?  Man,  she  was  an  ocean  liner  hooked 
up.  You  must  know,  when  the  Parker  came  a 
hundred  and  twenty  miles  or  so  in  nine  hours, 
how  we  came.  Come  ?  She  fairly  leaped  with 
every  for'ard  jump.  On  my  soul,  I  thought 
she'd  pull  the  spars  out  of  herself.  She  was  boil 
ing  along,  fair  boiling,  man.  She'd  stand  up  on 
her  rudder  and  throw  her  breast  at  the  clouds, 
then  she'd  bury  her  knight-heads  under.  But 
she  didn't  carry  all  her  sail  long.  That  fancy 

22 


A  Chase  Overnight 

six-hundred-yard  balloon,  the  sentimental  sum 
mer-gauze  balloon,  as  the  fleet  called  it,  didn't 
stay  on  a  great  while.  W-ur-r-up  !  and  'twas  up 
in  the  sky.  But  she  went  along.  *  Can  you 
sail,  you  little  divil,  can  you  sail  ? '  the  Irishman 
kept  sayin*.  *  We'll  show  them,  we'll  show  them. 
Go  it,  my  Lucy,  go  it.'  Man,  but  we  came 
along.  She  fair  screeched,  did  the  Lucy,  that 
night.  Just  think  of  it,  Steve — she,  with  that 
howling  no'the-easter  over  the  quarter  and  the 
Parker  somewhere  ahead  !  Could  they  fix  things 
better  for  her  to  sail  ?  Yes,  sir,  she  screeched 
and  the  Irishman  stampin'  up  and  down  between 
the  house  and  the  wind'ard  rail.  And  never  a 
let  up  all  that  night.  I'll  bet  old  Billie  was 
some  surprised  when  he  saw  us  in  the  morn- 
in'." 

"  Warn't  he  !  Warn't  all  of  us  on  the  Parker  ? 
'Twas  barely  sun-up  and  we  were  inside  Minot's 
Light,  fair  in  the  harbor,  you  might  say,  and 
Billie'd  just  said :  '  Well,  boys,  I  guess  we  can 
let  up  on  her  now.  The  wind's  jumpin'  to  the 
no'west  and  risin'  too.  I  wonder  where  the 
Irishman  is  now,  with  his  circular  no'therly 
courses.'  He  hadn't  half  said  that  when  some 
body  hollered  :  '  Hi,  skipper,  who's  that  astern  ? ' 

"  We  all  looked  and  damned  if  there  warn't 
the  Lucy.  She  warn't  too  plain — it  was  a  dark 

23 


A   Chase  Overnight 

kind  of  a  sun-up,  you  know — but  anybody  could 
tell  the  Lucy  as  far  as  they  could  see  her. 

"  Billie  looks.  « What  the  devil— the  Lucy  ! ' 
he  says.  '  And  drivin'  ?  My  soul,  look  at  her 
comin* !  Make  sail ! '  he  hollers.  '  Up  with 
them  tops'ls  and  balloon.  Up  with  them ! '  he 
hollers.  '  Somebody  shift  tacks  for  that  fore 
tops'l  there.  We'll  jibe  over  and  shoot  through 
The  Narrows.  Bend  on  that  stays'l,  boys  !  Fly 
— fly — boys  !  the  devil  himself  is  after  us  now.' 
We  made  sail.  It  was  howlin'  from  the  no'west 
now,  mind  you,  and  we  tackin'  up  The  Narrows. 

"  Whis-s-st !  went  the  big  balloon  from  the 
bolt  ropes.  Whis-s-st !  went  the  fore  tops'l — 
nothing  left  of  that  but  a  few  rags  and  the  bolt 
rope  bangin'  round  on  the  hoops.  And  we  wasn't 
a  bit  sorry  when  the  tops'l  went — shiftin'  tacks  in 
a  bloody  no'wester,  ain't  no  joke  up  aloft,  not  the 
way  the  Parker  was  diving." 

"  We  saw  them  go,  Steve.  Oh,  the  Irishman 
hopped  around  and  laughed.  t  We'll  get  them 
yet !  We  can  carry  them  ! '  he  was  yellin'  and 
then  the  gale  took  an  extra  good  grip  on  the 
Lucy's  fore  tops'l  that  she'd  carried  all  night  long 
and  pulled  it  out  by  the  roots.  Our  two  top 
mast  heads  was  springin'  together  all  this  time 
like  they  was  two  whips,  ana  the  Irishman  fit  to 
be  nailed  up  in  a  mackerel  barrel,  he  was  so  mad. 

24 


A  Chase  Overnight 

And  then  when  he  saw  the  Parker  shoot  into  The 
Narrows — !  The  N  arrows,  of  all  the  places  in  a 
no'wester — The  Narrows  in  Boston  Harbor  with 
a  big  fisherman  at  that  tide !  " 

"  Well,  Billie  knew  his  business  that  time, 
Johnnie.  It  was  tack,  tack,  tack,  all  the  way 
through.  Eight  times  we  tacked  before  we 
were  clear  of  it.  You  see,  Billie  figured  he  could 
take  more  chances  than  the  Irishman  here,  he 
knew  the  harbor  so  well.  'Twas  like  the  short 
cuts  on  Georges.  But  the  devil  was  in  the  Irish 
man.  Where  we  went  he  followed.  We  took 
some  chances  on  the  Parker,  but  imagine  the 
Lucy  pilin'  on  behind  us  and  the  skipper  barely 
knowin'  the  regular  channel — a  Galway  fisherman 
two  years  out." 

" Well,  we  came  to  the  last  reach.  'I'm 
doubtful  about  this  one,  boys,'  says  Billie.  '  But 
I  don't  care  much  if  she  does  hit.  If  I  don't 
crowd  her  by  and  we  have  to  put  back,  the  Irish- 
man'll  beat  us  in.  And  I'd  just  as  soon  have 
the  Henry  pile  up  anywhere  along  here,  as  have 
that  happen  this  trip  now.  If  she  can't  get  by, 
why  she  can't,  that's  all ;  but  we'll  know  we 
made  a  try  for  it.  If  the  Lucy  comes  after  us, 
she's  takin'  more  chances  yet.' 

"  But  the  fairies  were  with  us,  as  the  Irishman 
would  say.  We  slid  by  and  out,  and  then  we 

25 


A  Chase  Overnight 

humped  it  for  the  dock.  We  looked  to  see  how 
you  fellows  made  out,  Johnnie. 

" (  My  soul,  but  he's  a  game  one,'  says  Billie, 
watchin'  the  Irishman.  f  Look  at  him  bangin' 
her  right  up  where  we  went.  I  know  he's  never 
been  through  The  Narrows  in  his  life.  But  it 
don't  matter — the  devil  and  a  steamer  couldn't 
get  us  now,  if  nothin*  parts.' 

"  Billie  began  to  take  more  short  cuts.  We 
went  over  places  I'll  swear  charts  said  we  couldn't. 
But  we  had  to — there  was  the  Irishman  comin' 
hand  over  fist.  Wherever  the  Parker  went,  there 
was  the  Lucy  along  pretty  soon.  It  was  a  race 
and  it  warn't  ended  till  both  vessels  were  at  the 
wharf. 

"Well,  Billie  just  barely  got  it.  When  we 
made  to  shoot  into  the  slip,  there  was  the  Irish 
man  roundin'  to  under  our  stern.  He  was 
standin'  aft  by  the  wheel  himself.  When  he 
comes  abreast  of  us  in  the  dock — our  stern-line 
was  barely  made  fast  when  his  was  hove  upon  the 
wharf — he  shakes  his  fist  at  Billie. 

"  *  You  win  in  all  truth,'  Billie  Simms,  '  but 
which  vessel,  think  ye,  is  the  best  after  all  ? ' 

"  *  Oh,'  says  Billie,  laughin',  *  this  ain't  been 
no  race.  We  just  happened  to  be  ready  to  run 
to  market,  as  you  remarked  last  night,  and  here 
we  are.  This  old  pung'll  do  to  carry  home  fish 

26 


A  Chase  Overnight 

in  a  pinch,  but  if  I  had  a  good  vessel,  a  real 
good  vessel,  like  some  I  know  in  the  fleet ' 

" c  A  good  vessel  ?  Go  and  get  one,  Billie 
Simms.  Build  one  of  the  Lucy's  tonnage  and 
I'll  race  you  vessel  agin  vessel  and  the  winner 
take  them  both.  I'll  show  you  the  way,  Billie 
Simms,  from  here  to  Georges  and  back  again,  or 
from  here  to  hell — and  back  again,  if  we  can  get 
back.' 

"  *  Oh,  don't  get  so  hot  over  it.  I'm  not 
say  in'  the  Lucy  ain't  a  pretty  good  vessel.  In 
summer  breezes  now,  I  ain't  the  least  doubt  she'd 
keep  up  with  most  any  of  the  seinin'  fleet — most 
any  of  'em." 

The  big  seine-heaver  halted  here  in  his  narra 
tive  while  he  poured  himself  out  a  mug  of  coffee 
from  the  boiler  on  the  stove  and  helped  himself 
to  a  wedge  of  pie  from  the  grub  locker.  But 
some  of  the  crew  rose  up  from  lockers  and  bunks 
and  queried  impatiently,  "And  what  did  the 
Irishman  say  to  that  ?  " 

"H-m-m .  What  did  he  say?  Ask 

Johnnie  there — he  was  nearer  than  me  to  him. 
What  did  he  say,  Johnnie  ?  " 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  Well,  let  it  go,  what  he 
said.  Some  of  you  young  men  wouldn't  be  im 
proved  by  hearin'  what  the  Irishman  said  to 
Billie.  I  couldn't  repeat  it  in  cold  blood.  I'd 

27 


A  Chase  Overnight 

have  to  have  provocation,  like  the  Irishman,  y* 
see.  But  the  two  of  them  got  over  it.  After 
they'd  sold  their  fish,  they  got  together  in  the 
Parker's  cabin  and  Billie  admits  that  so  far  as  he 
knew  the  Lucy  was  the  fastest  vessel  of  her  ton 
nage,  take  her  on  all-' round  sailin',  goin'  out  of 
Boston  or  Gloucester.  Of  course,  that  pleased 
the  Irishman  and  he  said  that  Billie  always  was 
an  able  seaman,  and  then — this  was  after  they'd 
sold  their  fish  and  settled  up — Billie  let  him 
make  a  copy  of  that  private  chart  of  the  Georges. 
And  while  the  Irishman  was  makin'  it,  Billie 
says  :  '  I  never  before  let  anybody  make  a  copy 
of  that  chart — nobody  but  you.  It'll  be  worth 
a  lot  to  you,  that  chart,'  says  Billie. 

"At  that  the  Irishman  looks  up  at  Billie. 
'  Will  it  be  worth  twelve  hundred  dollars  to  me 
ever,  d'ye  think  ? ' 

" (  H-m-m,'  says  Billie,  '  I  dunno ;  but  it's 
been  worth  twelve  hundred  to  me,'  and  then  he 
laughs,  and  then  the  Irishman  laughs.  And 
afterward  they  went  up  on  Atlantic  Avenue  and 
had  a  few  drinks  together.  And  I  guess  nobody 
ever  worked  any  short  cuts  or  beat  the  Irishman 
off  the  Georges  since." 

"  No,"  said  the  big  man,  replacing  his  empty 
mug  in  the  locker.  "  No,  I'll  bet  they  didn't. 
Boys,  I  could  talk  till  this  fo'c's'le  was  black 

28 


A  Chase  Overnight 

about  the  Lucy  and  the  Irishman.  I  was  seine- 
heaver  on  her  for  two  seasons.  But  me  and 
Martin  '11  have  to  be  goin'  along  and  hunt  up 
the  William  Walker.  In  this  light  I  guess  we'll 
be  able  to  make  out  her  green  sides  and  blue 
seine-boat.  Good-by,  Johnnie  ;  good-by,  every 
body." 

From  the  rigging  of  the  Barker  they  picked 
out  their  vessel  easily  enough  in  the  growing 
light.  On  the  way  they  passed  the  famous 
Lucy,  clear  white  at  this  time,  with  a  gold  stripe 
along  her  run.  Steve  stopped  rowing  to  admire 
her. 

"  She  cert'nly  do  look  beau-ti-ful,  the  Lucy. 
She's  a  man  for  strength  and  a  woman  for  good 
looks.  A  lady's  yacht  lyin'  there,  but  a  fisher 
man  when  there's  somethin'  doin' — able  for  the 
highest  wind  and  the  biggest  sea  that  ever  came 
out  of  the  North  Atlantic.  Give  me  the  Lucy 
in  a  gale,  before  all  the  three-stack  liners  that 
ever  steamed  out  of  New  York.  She'll  shake 
you  up — she'll  jump — my  soul  but  she'll  jump  ! 
She's  a  little  thing  and  needs  to  be  lively  to  get 
out  of  the  way,  but,  man,  she'll  bring  you  home 
at  last,  and  that's  the  main  thing  with  men  that 
fish  on  the  Banks.  Watch  her,  Martin.  Watch 
her  an  hour  from  now,  when  the  sun's  lookin'  up 
over  the  Cape  Cod  shore  and  see  the  way  she'll 

29 


A  Chase  Overnight 

trip  in  and  out  among  the  fleet.  When  you  see 
her  round  The  Race  and  lay  her  thirty-odd  foot 
spike  bowsprit  s'uth-east  by  east — about — then 
you'll  surely  know  the  seining  fleet  is  standin' 
out  to  sea.  For 

'  At  three  o'clock  the  cook  he  stirred 
To  bake  the  fine  hot  bread, 
At  four  the  skipper  passed  the  word 
That  jumped  us  out  of  bed  ; 
In  half  an  hour  we'd  made  all  sail 
And  broke  the  mud-hooks  free, 
At  five  o'clock  the  seining  fleet 
Was  standing  out  to  sea.'  " 

And  once  again  the  big  man  roared  it  out : 

And  at  fi-ive  o'clock  the  sei-eining  fleet 
Was  standing  out  to  sea. 

And  with  that  he    and   Martin   boarded   the 
long-sought  William  Walker. 


ON  THE  ECHO  O'  THE  MORN 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

IN  the  harbor  of  Halifax,  a  hundred  sail  or  so 
of  the  American  seining  fleet,  Gloucestermen 
mostly,  had  come  flying  in  before  a  "smoky  sou' 
wester."  Supper  finished  and  clothes-bags  over 
hauled,  the  men  were  disposed  to  go  ashore  and 
explore  the  slopes  of  the  city,  where,  it  was  hoped, 
some  relaxation  might  be  found  while  the  gale 
should  be  blowing  by  outside. 

Fishermen  in  port  have  many  methods  of  dis 
pelling  care ;  but  this  tale  concerns  only  the  fan 
cies  of  a  choice  dozen  or  so,  who,  on  this  particular 
night,  chose  to  gather  in  a  retired  back-room  on  a 
side  street  not  far  removed  from  the  big  govern 
ment  dry-dock.  Here,  in  snug  privacy,  behind 
close-drawn  curtains,  were  recounted  tales  of  other 
days  and  other  ports,  while,  in  a  hearty,  sociable, 
unhurried  way,  the  flowing  bowl  went  round. 

These  were  master  fishermen,  skippers  all,  bar 
ring  one — "Sylvie's  passenger" — so  rated  because 
he  was  aboard  the  North  Wind,  of  which  Sylvester 
Warren  was  master,  solely  for  pleasure.  The 

33 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

passenger's  presence  has  but  little  to  do  with  the 
story,  and  might  not,  indeed,  have  been  men 
tioned  at  all,  were  it  not  that  because  of  his  extreme 
ignorance  of  certain  fishing  history,  the  story 
tellers  of  the  evening  at  times  went  into  detail, 
which,  for  themselves,  they  would  have  ignored. 

It  was  really  in  deference  to  the  passenger  that 
Wesley  Marrs,  masking  his  narrative  beneath 
explanations  to  his  fellow-skippers,  tried  to  set 
forth  clearly,  without  going  to  too  great  a  length, 
the  peculiar  ways  of  Billie  Simms,  whose  tem 
perament,  it  would  seem,  was  known  to  the  mar 
iners  present  as  though  it  were  that  of  a  brother. 
"  It's  your  watch,  Wesley,"  somebody  had  said,and 
Wesley's  speech,  after  he  had  rekindled  his  pipe, 
flowed  from  him  quite  as  the  good  ale  gurgles 
from  the  fresh-tapped  keg,  with  little  spurts  and 
gushes  at  times,  but  smoothly  enough,  and  with  a 
head  of  speed  that  told  of  the  great  store  behind. 
The  gathering  knew  that  now  they  had  got  him  on 
deck,  Wesley  was  good  to  hold  the  wheel  till  day 
light. 

"You're  right  about  the  Portugee,  Sylvie,  he 
could  crack  on  with  the  best  of  'em  " — the  last 
tale  had  been  of  desperate  sail-carrying.  "  You're 
right,"  went  on  Wesley,  "  he'd  hang  on  'bout's 
long  as  anybody,  after  he'd  got  educated  up  to  it. 
To  my  way  of  thinking,  the  Portugee  and  the 

34 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

Irishman  and  Elllie  Simms  and  a  few  others'll  get 
their  happiness  in  the  next  world  by  being  made 
skippers  of  vessels  that  can't  be  drew  under,  nor 
turned  over,  with  spars  that  can't  be  busted,  and 
sails  that  can't  be  stirred  from  the  hoops.  But 
Billie  Simms  was  something  more  than  just  a 
driver.  Billie  had  original  ideas.  Anything  out 
the  ord'nary  run  was  what  caught  Billie.  I  mind 
one  trip,  he  tried  to  see  how  much  fish  he  could 
take  home  from  Iceland.  When  he  got  ready  to 
leave  Rikievik,  he  had  a  load  aboard,  let  me  tell 
you.  We  didn't  have  to  hoist  the  dories  aboard 
at  all,  she  was  that  deep — nary  a  tackle — -just  slid 
'em  over  the  rail.  And  he  got  very  proud  to  get 
that  halibut  home — though  we'd  have  bet  he 
wouldn't,  if  there'd  been  anybody  to  bet  with. 

"  Then,  there  was  the  time  up  Iceland  way,  too, 
when  he  thought  he'd  like  to  remember  some 
Gloucester  and  Boston  friends  and  he  takes  aboard 
one  of  those  Iceland  donkeys  and  three  blue  foxes. 
And  he  talked  blue  foxes  to  us  till  ten  more  of  us 
got  blue  foxes — he  had  a  way  of  describing  things 
till  you  felt  as'f  there  was  nothing  on  earth  so  de 
sirable  as  the  things  he  was  talking  about.  So  we 
set  sail  from  Rikievik  this  time  with  the  donkey 
and  thirteen  of  those  blue  Iceland  foxes.  The 
donkey  was  all  right.  We  made  a  little  stall  for 
him  on  deck,  just  aft  the  main  hatch,  and  all  we 

35 


On  the  Echo  o*  the  Morn 

had  to  do  was  to  feed  him  reg'lar  and  run  him 
'round  the  house  every  morning  for  exercise,  with 
a  painter  to  him,  so  if  he  rolled  overboard  we 
could  haul  him  back.  It  was  when  the  foxes  got 
loose  down  the  hold  and  set  up  such  an  awful 
barkin'  that  we  couldn't  sleep  night  or  day,  that 
our  troubles  began.  Man,  there  was  the  job — to 
get  them  foxes  in  the  hold.  Chasin'  polar  bears 
on  the  ice,  like  Prentice  was  telling  about  awhile 
ago,  ain't  a  mark  to  crawlin'  after  blue  foxes  in 
close  quarters.  They  used  to  get  between  the 
top  of  the  fish  and  the  deck — 'bout  a  foot  and  a 
half  space — and  we  had  to  go  and  grab  'em.  Bare 
hands?  Of  course.  And  when  we'd  begin  to  crowd 
'em  in  a  corner,  their  eyes'd  shine,  and — give  me 
the  polar  bears  with  axes — if  the  axes  are  sharp. 
But  that  ain't  what  I  had  in  mind  to  tell — give 
me  a  match,  somebody — I  can  never  keep  a  pipe 
agoin'  when  I  get  started  talking.  That's  it,  boy. 
I'll  tell  you  'bout  a  real  lively  trip  with  Billie 
Simms,  where  we  did  take  a  chance  once." 

Puff — puff — puff,  went  Wesley,  smoking  up, 
and  then  he  laid  his  course  afresh. 

"Some  of  you,  maybe,  have  got  this  story 
straight  before,  but  some  of  you  never  got  it  first 
hand,  may  be,  and,  anyway,  your  passenger,  Silvie, 
might  like  to  hear  exactly  how  it  did  happen. 

"  It  was  right  on  this  very  Nova  Scotia  coast 
36 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

that  we  were  seining  the  summer  I'm  talking 
about.  It's  Billie  and  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn, 
I'm  talking  about  now.  Billie  used  to  be  a  dog 
after  mackerel  those  days.  He'd  get  'em,  if  there 
was  any  around  to  get.  This  was  the  height  of  the 
time  when  so  many  American  vessels  were  being 
seized  by  the  English  cutters  for  fishing  inside 
the  three-mile  limit.  You  know  what  hard  feel 
ings  there  used  to  be  between  the  Canadians  and 
our  fellows  about  fishing  inside  the  shore  line. 
American  fishermen  were  being  fined  right  and 
left,  the  Gover'ment  at  Washington  was  doing 
little  but  make  talk,  and  at  home,  in  Gloucester, 
everybody  was  boiling  over  about  it. 

"  The  Clayton  brothers  owned  the  Echo. 
They're  out  of  business  now,  but  some  of  you 
had  dealings  with  'em  may  be.  One  was  strong 
on  religion — had  Bibles  fore  and  aft  on  every  one 
of  his  vessels — and  the  other  was  a  hot  sport,  and 
on  account  of  their  difference  of  opinion,  they  used 
to  split  on  the  names  of  the  vessels.  That's  how 
there  came  the  Mutineer,  then  the  Peace  on  Earth  t 
then  the  Buccaneer,  and  the  Three  Shepherds. 
The  Avenger  and  the  Good  Will  to  Men  was 
launched  the  same  week,  and  the  Roisterer  was 
chased  off  the  stocks  by  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn. 
I  mind  well  the  launchin'  of  'em  both. 

"  But  if  they  split  on  the  names,  they  had 
37 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

identical  ideas  'bout  skippers  and  crews.  '  Read 
the  Bible,  men,'  the  old  fellow  would  say,  '  and 
abide  by  what  you  find  therein.'  We  alj  found 
some  pretty  husky  fighting  men  in  that  same 
Bible.  The  other  brother's  instructions  to  skip 
pers  was  mostly,  *  Bring  home  the  fish.' 

"Billie  Simms  had  been  offered  a  big  percent 
age  to  take  the  Echo,  and  he  shipped  as  fine  and 
able  a  crew  as  ever  I  sailed  with.  The  Echo  was 
a  handsome  vessel,  just  off  the  stocks  then,  and  I 
mind  the  curiosity  of  the  Gover'ment  sailing  cut 
ters  down  this  way  to  try  tacks  with  her.  We 
went  along  for  quite  a  while  without  getting  more 
than  our  share  of  official  calls  from  the  cutters — 
they  were  slow  in  the  stays,  most  of  'em.  We 
used  to  keep  track  of  the  cutters,  read  the  battles 
in  the  old  man's  Bibles  reg'lar,  and  keep  a  sharp 
watch  for  fish  aloft. 

"As  the  Echo's  hull  was  beginning  to  get 
known  along  the  coast,  they  begins  to  crowd  us 
pretty  close.  And  one  day  they  ketched  us  at 
what  they  said  was  inside  the  three-mile  limit, 
where,  of  course,  we  had  no  business  to  be — if  it 
was  inside.  I'm  in  doubt  to  this  day  whether  we 
were  inside  the  line  or  not,  and  I  wouldn't  hold 
back  the  truth  of  it  now,  but  anyway  they  said 
we  was.  They  always  gave  themselves  the  bene 
fit  of  any  doubts,  these  lads,  when  they  were 

38 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

dealing  with  American  fishermen.  There  was 
two  of  'em  and  one  a  steam  cutter.  It  was  no 
disgrace,  p'raps,  it  being  a  flat  calm  and  they 
mounting  six  guns  apiece,  but  they  had  the  laugh 
on  us,  the  two  cutters,  and  they  walked  us  into 
Barnsley  between  them,  the  sailing  lad  to  wind- 
'ard,  where  Billie  said  she'd  never  got  by  rights, 
and  the  steam  fellow  to  looard.  Into  the  harbor 
of  Barnsley  they  walked  us,  with  two  hundred 
barrels  of  mackerel  in  our  hold. 

"  They  made  the  Echo  fast  to  the  dock, 
stripped  the  sails  off  her  the  first  thing  and  put 
them  in  a  sail-loft  near  by.  Then  they  asked 
Billie  to  step  up  to  the  custom-house,  where  they 
asked  him  a  lot  of  questions,  which  he  didn't  an 
swer  gen'rally,  and  when  he  did,  they  didn't  put 
them  down,  Billie  being  a  bit  hot. 

"  The  crew  was  all  turned  loose,  of  course.  It 
was  the  vessels  they  wanted,  they  used  to  say. 
They'd  set  a  fine,  they  said,  and  they'd  have  no 
trouble  getting  it,  for  if  the  owners  didn't  settle, 
they'd  sell  the  Echo  at  public  auction  and  get  it 
that  way.  There  was  a  Gloucester  vessel  caught 
two  weeks  ahead  of  us  and  fined  $3,000. 

"  Things  looked  bad  for  the  Echo.  Billie  tele 
graphed  to  the  owners  how  it  happened.  I  was 
there  when  he  wrote  the  message.  '  Don't  do 
anything  till  you  hear  further  from  me.  May- 

39 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

be  we  can  settle  to  better  advantage  at  this  end,' 
was  the  winding  up  of  it.  *  Everybody  in  the 
place  here  will  know  what  the  message  said  in 
side  of  an  hour,'  Billie  said,  coming  out  of  the 
telegraph  office.  And  they  did.  They  was 
laughing  at  us  to  our  face  and  asking  what  soft 
kind  of  a  settlement  we  expected  to  make  with 
the  Provincial  Gover'ment. 

"  Next  day  Billie  just  laid  around  and  waited 
in  the  morning.  In  the  afternoon  he  took  a 
couple  of  us  and  a  small  boat  and  we  sailed  out 
to  where  the  two  cutters  were  anchored,  three  or 
four  cable-lengths  off-shore.  Billie  had  a  talk  with 
the  Captain  of  the  steam  cutter,  which  was  just 
opposite  the  sailing  lad,  p'raps  seventy  or  eighty 
fathom  between  them,  and  they  were  taking  up 
the  harbor  pretty  well  there,  where  the  harbor 
made  a  kind  of  a  neck.  '  I  tell  you,  Captain/ 
says  Billie,  looking  across  the  way,  *  a  vessel  that 
tried  to  sail  out  of  here  unbeknownst  would  get 
the  devil,  wouldn't  she — having  to  go  between 
you  two  ? ' 

" '  That's  what  she  would,'  said  the  Captain. 
My,  but  he  laughed  just  to  think  of  it. 

"'It  would  be  a  good  harbor,  this  one,'  says 
Billie  again,  taking  a  look  around,  '  if  'twas  only 
a  mite  wider  up  here.' 

"  *  Well,  it's  wide  enough  below,'  says  the  Cap- 
40 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

tain.  '  Deep  water  clear  up  to  the  shore.  A 
blind  man  could  pilot  a  vessel  in  and  out  here. 
He'd  only  have  to  keep  her  off  the  rocks.' 
Then  he  takes  Billie  down  below  and  tells  him 
all  about  the  steam  gear.  c  Ready  to  move  at 
half  a  minute's  notice,'  he  says,  when  he  conies 
up  on  deck  again.  *  You  can't  expect  to  get 
ahead  of  one  of  these  machines  with  a  sailing  ves 
sel,'  he  says — '  not  when  her  machinery  is  in 
working  order.' 

" '  I  see,'  says  Billie,  '  not  when  the  steam 
gear's  clear.' 

"  Then  we  gets  into  the  small  boat  again  and 
sails  around  to  have  a  look  at  the  harbor,  which 
was  just  about  as  they  said  it  was — deep  water  to 
the  shore.  The  last  thing  Billie  said  when  he 
stepped  out  of  the  small  boat  was :  f  This  time 
t'morrow  morning  the  tide'll  be  just  like  it  is 
now.'  It  was  past  three  o'clock  then,  and  the 
tide  a  fair  ebb. 

"  That  night  about  ten  o'clock  it  was  pretty 
quiet  in  Barnsley.  We  warn't  very  much  sur 
prised  when  Billie  passed  the  word,  in  a  quiet 
way,  to  slip  the  boarding-house  we  were  staying 
at,  and  meet  him  outside.  Billie  soon  told  us 
what  the  game  was,  and  we  started  right  away. 
Four  of  us  dropped  down  to  the  sail-loft,  caught 
the  watchman,  gagged  him,  and  tied  him  up. 

41 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

He  wouldn't  tell  us  where  the  key  was,  and  we 
broke  in  the  door.  We  found  the  Echo's  sails 
done  up  in  packages,  sealed  up  fine  with  red  wax 
— all  official.  We  rolled  the  watchman  up  in 
some  old  sail,  so  he  wouldn't  catch  cold  through 
the  night,  and  then  we  hustled  our  packages 
down  to  the  dock.  We  met  a  lad  on  the  way 
who  wanted  to  know  what  we  was  at.  We  tied 
him  up,  and  took  him  along. 

"  We  found  Billie  had  everything  ready  at  the 
dock,  with  the  vessel's  two  custom-house  watch 
men  and  the  dock  watchman  all  tied  up  nice,  and 
laid  near  the  dock  shed.  We  set  our  man  in 
alongside,  and  they  laid  there  like  a  row  of 
Egyptian  mummies — not  a  sound  out  of  them, 
they  being  all  gagged.  -  , 

"  We  set  to  work.  First,  we  spoilt  them  fine 
red  wax  seals  with  an  axe,  then  started  to  bend  on 
the  sails.  And  let  me  tell  you  we  druv  things. 
Six  of  the  crew  stayed  up  to  the  street  end  of  the 
dock  to  take"  care  of  any  curious  people  that 
might  happen  to  start  to  stroll  down  to  take  a 
look  at  the  Echo.  There  was  three  of  that  kind, 
dark  as  it  was.  The  three  of  them  was  captured, 
two  of  them  policemen.  Fitting  on  the  sails  we 
couldn't  find  any  main  tops'l  in  the  bunch.  We 
must  have  left  it  behind,  but  we  couldn't  stop  to 
go  back  after  it  to  the  sail-loft.  We  were  driving 

42 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

you  see,  trying  to  get  ready  in  time  for  the  ebb 
tide,  and  out  the  harbor  before  daylight.  We 
was  all  strung  up,  of  course,  thinking  of  what  we 
had  ahead  of  us.  We  were  pretty  near  done  with 
the  sails,  only  the  head  sails  left  to  fit  on,  when 
somebody  said :  '  Skipper,  what  about  the  steam 
cutter  ?  Think  we'll  get  by  her  ? ' 

"  Billie  studied  awhile.  *  I've  been  thinking 
of  her,  and  I  guess  we'd  better  tend  to  her  now. 
Wesley,  you,  Hiram  and  Mike  Feeney  come  with 
me.  The  rest  of  you'll  have  time  to  fit  those  jibs 
while  we're  gone.'  We  first  gets  out  about  twenty 
fathom  of  small  chain,  and  a  small  anchor  out  of 
the  hold,  puts  them  into  the  dory — the  dory  and 
seine-boat  was  astern  the  Echo — and  paddles  over 
toward  the  steam  cutter.  Well,  now  you  c'n 
believe  we  did  sorrie  gentle  rowin'  toward  that 
cutter — oars  tie4  yp  in  old  rags,  and  the  chain 
wrapped  in  blankets  out  of  the  bunks  below,  for 
the  first  three  or  four  fathom. 

"  Billie  himself  goes  overboard  when  we  were 
under  the  stern  of  the  cutter.  We  paid  the  chain 
out  to  him,  handing  it  out,  link  by  link,  as  if  we 
were  handing  out  men's  lives.  Billie  was  a  dog 
in  the  water.  He  drops  under  and  toggles  the 
cutter's  screws  with  the  chain — takes  two  or  three 
turns  around  each  blade.  Man,  but  he  did  a 
careful  job.  When  he  gets  back  in  the  dory 

43 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

again — a  water  rat  wouldn't  ha*  made  so  little 
noise — we  paid  out  the  chain — careful — oh,  care 
ful — and  paddles  away.  When  we  got  the  chain's 
length  out,  we  lowered  the  little  anchor  to  the 
bottom,  easy  as  could  be,  with  a  small  line.  Then 
we  worked  back  to  the  Echo,  where  they  had 
everything  ready  to  leave. 

"  We  warped  her  out  of  the  dock — oh,  first, 
Harvey  goes  up  and  covers  up  our  row  of  pris 
oners  under  the  shed,  gives  'em  a  drink  all  'round, 
and  left  'em.  They  were  found  there  in  the  morn 
ing,  I  s'pose. 

"  So  we  warped  her  clear  of  the  dock — the  sails 
had  been  hoisted  afore  we  stirred  at  all,  and  you 
may  be  sure  we  had  the  masts  and  hoops  pretty 
well  slushed.  We  bore  down  on  the  two  cutters. 
By  their  lights  we  knew  they  were  laying  broad 
side  to  each  other,  up  and  down  stream  just  as 
they  laid  that  afternoon.  We  knew  we  couldn't 
get  outside  either  one,  so  Billie  pointed  the  Echo 
up  to  go  between.  The  wind  was  all  right — not 
enough  for  fine  work — but  enough  for  the  trick, 
and  Billie  callated  the  tide  'bout  right — it  was 
with  us. 

"  We  bore  down.  Of  course,  we  was  pray 
ing  to  get  by  without  being  seen.  But  it  wasn't 
quite  dark  enough  for  that.  Our  sails  must've 
showed,  for  we  hadn't  got  between  them  at  all, 

44 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

when  there  came  a  hail  from  the  steam  cutter — 
to  port  she  was — '  What  vessel's  that  ? '  We 
stood  on  a  little  longer,  and  she  hailed  again, 
and  the  sailin'  cutter — to  starboard — she  hailed 
too,  and  they  both  hailed  ac  if  they  meant  busi 
ness — { What  vessel's  that  ? ' 

"  Billie  standin'  by  the  wheel,  sings  out :  *  We'er 
the  Echo  o'  the  Morn,  seiner,  of  Gloucester. 
Report  me,  will  you,  to-morrow?  The  harbor 
master  was  off  duty,  and  the  Custom-house  was 
closed  when  we  left.' 

"  When  he  got  that  out  we  could  hear  the 
greatest  racket  on  both  cutters.  They  began  to 
sing  out — port  and  starboard  both — *  Put  about 
or  we'll  fire,'  says  one.  *  Go  back  or  we'll  sink 
you,'  hollers  the  other. 

"'Fire  and  sink  hell,'  says  Billie.  'You'll 
only  sink  yourselves  firin'  across  at  each  other.' 
And  that  was  right,  though  I  swear  I  don't  think 
another  man  aboard  would've  thought  of  that  but 
Billie. 

"That  must've  set  them  thinkin',  for  they 
shut  up  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  we  heard  the 
orders  to  make  sail  aboard  one  and  the  bells  from 
the  bridge  on  the  other.  '  The  sailin'  lad  won't 
bother  us,'  says  Billie.  *  She's  a  square-ended 
old  tub,  and  till  they  get  that  collar  and  necktie 
off  the  propeller  I  don't  think  the  steam  boy'll 

45 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

do  much  either/  There  certainly  must've  been 
some  riotin'  in  the  hold  of  that  steam  cutter. 
We  heard  the  orders  to  slip  the  cable  and  the 
bells  her  Captain  rung  from  the  pilot-house. 
There  was  an  awful  flurry  astern  of  her,  and  then 
such  howls  from  above  and  below,  from  the 
bridge  and  the  steam  department.  *  I  callate,' 
says  Billie,  c  our  little  toggle  chain  and  anchor's 
gone  into  action.'  We  were  sliding  by  all  the 
time. 

"  They  let  go  a  couple  from  their  bow,  but  we 
was  bowlin'  along  then,  all  of  us  lying  flat  on 
deck,  all  but  Billie.  He  stood  to  the  wheel, 
back  to  'em,  contemptuous  like.  *  They're  firm' 
wide,'  he  says,  and  out  the  harbor  he  drives  her. 

"  We  were  barely  outside  when  a  big  steamer 
lit  up  like  a  barroom  passed  outside  of  us  and 
swung  in  for  Barnsley. 

" c  What  do  you  make  of  that  ? '  we  asks 
Billie. 

" '  A  cruiser  from  Halifax,  sure's  fate,  come  to 
take  the  Echo  in  charge.  I  guess  we'd  better 
take  to  more  private  courses  before  daylight 
comes  along.' 

"  We  put  inside  the  islands  along  the  coast 
soon's  it  got  so's  we  could  see  at  all.  It  was 
takin*  chances  going  inside  and  driving  her  like 
we  were,  but  we  had  to.  If  we  stayed  outside 

46 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

the  cruiser 'd  get  us  on  her  way  back.  We  kept 
two  men  to  the  mast-head  all  that  day,  pickin' 
out  channels  and  passages  ahead.  There  was 
times  when  we  did't  know  whether  she'd  go 
another  mile  or  another  length  ahead,  but,  as 
Billie  said,  f  We  got  to.  Pile  her  up  along  here 
and  there's  a  fighting  chance  for  the  owners  to 
get  insurance  money,  while  if  we  go  outside,  it's 
all  up,  and  the  owners  don't  get  so  much  as  a 
dollar  out  of  the  hull  or  a  single  barrel  of  them 
mackerel  in  the  hold.  If  they  intended  to  fine 
us  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars  afore,  they'll  fine 
her  all  she's  worth  after  this,  not  to  speak  of  the 
partic'lar  jail  we'd  fetch  up  in.'  So  we  druv  her 
along  inside  the  coast  islands. 

"In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  lookouts 
to  the  mast-head  reported  smoke  to  the  east'ard 
and  coming  down  the  coast.  We  were  well  on 
toward  Halifax,  then — along  Egg  Island  way, 
twenty  odd  miles  east  of  here — and  Billie  says : 
*  Might  just  as  well  lay  her  up  here  for  a  while/ 
So  he  picked  out  a  cut  behind  a  high  island  and 
we  slid  in  there.  Some  of  us  went  and  made  a 
landing  in  the  seine-boat  and  climbed  up  the 
bluff  of  the  island.  It  was  our  cruiser  of  the 
night  before  sure  enough,  and  she  was  everlast- 
in'ly  poundin'  along.  We  laid  low  among  the 
broken  rocks,  and  when  she  went  by  we  could 

47 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

make  out  her  tops  full  of  lookouts.  By  and  by 
comes  two  cutters  steaming  along.  One  of  them 
was  our  Barnsley  cutter — the  chain  and  anchor 
lad.  They  went  on  by,  with  more  racket  than  so 
many  fire-engines  ashore,  and  Billie  said  they 
must've  had  their  safety-valves  strapped  down  the 
way  they  were  steaming. 

"  *  There'll  be  a  rondeevoo  of  Her  Majesty's 
naval  forces  down  Massachusetts  Bay  this  time 
to-morrer,'  says  Billie,  '  and  all  in  honor  of  the 
Echo  o'  the  Morn.  But  we'll  beat  'em  yet, 
we'll  beat  'em  yet.  Can't  you  see  the  Echo, 
boys,  runnin'  the  blockade  ?  We'll  run  for  Le 
Have  Bank  to-night,  boys,  and  we'll  beat  'em 
yet.' 

"  When  dark  came,  we  put  to  the  s'uth'ard, 
and  all  night  long  we  drove  her,  everlastin'ly 
druv  her  till  sun-up,  when  the  log  showed  a  hun 
dred  miles  since  sunset,  and  we  were  in  among 
the  haddockin'  fleet  off  Le  Have.  We  hunted 
around  for  one  of  the  firm's  vessels  till  we  found 
the  Buccaneer.  Crump  Taylor  was  skipper  of 
her  then.  You  all  know  Crump,  of  course,  so  I 
don't  need  to  tell  you  the  kind  of  a  man  he  was. 
Crump  hadn't  been  thinking  of  going  home  just 
then,  but  he  takes  all  in  and  comes  along  when 
Billie  tells  him  the  story.  The  Quickstep,  John 
McLeod,  Soudan  you  know,  was  all  filled  up 

48 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

and  ready  to  leave.  He  said  he'd  like  mighty 
well  to  wait  and  run  home  along  with  the  two 
of  us,  when  Billie  told  him  how  things  stood. 
'  Might  be  of  use,  you  can't  tell,  and  we're  most 
out  of  grub  anyway,'  says  Soudan. 

"  Well,  we  first  fits  the  Buccaneer's  main  tops'l 
onto  the  Echo,  then  swaps  the  Echo's  seine-boat 
for  the  Buccaneer's  dories — piles  the  nest  of  'em 
in  our  waist,  making  us  look  like  any  other  had- 
docker,  and  the  three  of  us  wings  it  out  to  the 
west'ard  afore  as  sweet  and  fair  a  breeze  as  ever 
fanned  a  vessel  off  Le  Have. 

"  That  was  long  'bout  dusk.  Night  sailin* 
gen'rally  is  best  in  cases  like  that.  The  next 
afternoon  we  was  in  sight  of  Massachusetts  Bay, 
Boston,  I  might  say,  when  we  notices  the  smoke 
of  a  steamer  to  s'uth'ard  coming  our  way.  The 
Buccaneer  right  away — that  was  Crump — he  be 
gins  to  drag  behind,  and  points  off"  no'therly  a  little 
— as  if  she  had  a  mind  for  a  harbor  on  the  Maine 
coast.  And  he  hauls  his  seine-boat — the  Echo's 
seine-boat  alongside,  snug  up,  as  if  he  wanted  to 
hide  it. 

"  Of  course,  they  warn't  letting  any  manoeuvre 
of  that  kind  get  by  them  on  the  cruiser,  and  they 
makes  off  after  Crump.  The  Buccaneer  and  the 
Echo,  mind,  was  as  like  as  two  number  one 
mackerel.  The  onlv  difference  that  day  was  the 

49 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

Buccaneer  carried  no  main  tops'l,  which,  as  I  said, 
had  been  put  onto  the  Echo. 

"  The  cruiser  comes  along  and  lets  go  a  blank 
at  Crump.  He  keeps  right  on.  Then  in  a  little 
while  comes  another  blank,  which  Crump  didn't 
pay  much  attention  to.  Then  comes  a  solid  shot, 
close  enough,  it  looked  to  us.  Crump  seemed  a 
bit  slow  yet,  and  they  sent  another  solid  shot — 
plump  through  her  fores'l,  this  one.  I  guess 
that  was  close  enough  for  Crump,  and  he  jams 
the  Buccaneer  into  the  wind  and  waits.  Crump 
told  us  all  about  the  rest  of  it  afterward,  for  we, 
of  course,  was  making  long  legs  of  it  to  west'ard. 

"You'd  laugh  if  you  could  hear  Crump  tell 
about  how  the  cruiser's  gig  comes  roundin'  by  his 
stern,  where  Crump'd  hung  a  piece  of  old  sail, 
as  if  he  wanted  to  hide  the  name,  by  the  way. 
They  rows  alongside.  A  petty  officer — a  petty 
officer,  mind,  as  if  that  was  good  enough  for  a 
fisherman — he  steps  aboard  by  way  of  the  seine- 
boat,  which  had  her  name — Echo  o'  the  Morn — 
on  her  as  plain's  could  be.  This  fellow  smiles, 
reads  the  name,  and  steps  over  the  Buccaneer's 
rail,  looks  up  aloft,  and  says,  for  a  starter: 
'  There's  a  tops'l  up  in  a  Barnsley  sail-loft  that 
would  come  mighty  nigh  to  fitting  that  main  top- 
m'st  of  yours.' 

"  He  says  that  and  smiles  at  Crump.     You  c'n 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

imagine  Crump  leanin*  agin  the  main  riggin*  in 
that  easy  way  of  his,  and  looking  up  to  the  mast 
head,  and  sayin' — c  It  do  look  kind  of  bare,  don't 
it?' 

" c  Yes,'  says  the  navy  boy,  e  and  I  s'pose  you 
wish  to  know  what  we  want  ? ' 

" c  I  can't  say's  I  do,'  says  Crump. 

"  *  P'raps  you  would  like  to  hear  ? ' 

" '  Oh,  I  dunno's  I'll  have  any  melancholy 
night-watches  if  I  don't  hear,'  says  Crump, '  but 
if  it'll  ease  you  any,  why,  drive  her.' 

"  Well,  the  cruiser  lad  goes  on  with  a  long 
mess  of  stuff  about  the  American  schooner,  the 
Echo  o'  the  Morn,  seized  by  Her  Majesty's 
cutters — the  Calenso  and  the  Seal — for  violation 
of  the  International  Fishing  Laws  Treaty,  and 
stolen  from  the  custody  of  the  Dominion  Gover'- 
ment's  officers  on  the  night  of  August  the  twenty- 
seventh,  at  Barnsley,  Nova  Scotia,  and,  further, 
there  was  charges  of  several  assaults  and  batteries, 
not  only  to  official  persons,  but  to  private  per 
sons,  and  so  on.  It  took  him  nigh  fifteen  min 
utes  to  tell  it  all. 

" f  God.  save  the  Queen,'  says  Crump,  and 
spits  over  the  rail — you  know  Crump's  way — 
'  that's  all  official,  I  s'pose.' 

"  *  Yes,  sir — and  be  careful.' '  The  navy  lad 
was  pretty  hot. 

5' 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

"  ( Yes  ? '  says  Crump. 

" f  Yes,'  fires  back  the  navy  lad. 

"  *  Well,  you  said  it  pretty  nice,  but  what's  it 
got  to  do  with  me  ? ' 

" '  What's  it  got — do  you  deny  that  you  are 
the  American  fishing  schooner,  the  Echo  o'  the 
Morn  ? ' 

"  *  We're  cert'nly  a  fisherman,'  answers  Crump, 
*  there's  our  gurry  kids  on  deck  under  your  nose, 
and  a  hundred  thousand  of  fresh  fish  in  the  hold, 
if  you  want  more  proof,  and  we're  cert'nly  Ameri 
can — there's  our  flag  to  the  peak  for  that — but 
it's  most  interestin'  news  to  me  that  we're  the 
Echo  o'  the  Morn,  though  I'll  admit  we  do  look 
something  like  her,  the  two  of  them  havin'  been 
built  off  the  same  moulds  and  rigged  to  the  same 
plans.' 

"  The  Englishman  only  grins  and  looks  over 
the  side  and  points  to  the  name  on  the  seine- 
boat. 

" '  Ho,  ho,'  laughs  Crump,  as  if  he'd  just 
caught  on,  '  ho,  ho.'  The  Englishman  smiles 
and  Crump  goes  on.  '  You're  the  boys  for  cute- 
ness,  you  navy  lads.  But,  gen'rally,  down  our 
way,  when  we  want  to  get  at  a  vessel's  name,  we 
look  at  what  it  says  astern  of  her  or  on  the  trail- 
board  under  her  bow  for'ard ; '  and,  mind  you, 
the  canvas  was  hanging  over  the  stern  and  the 

52 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

letters  for'ard  so  chafed  that  you  couldn't  have 
read  'em  twenty  feet  away. 

ft  The  Englishman  smiles  his  everlastin*  smile 
and  sings  out  to  his  boat's  crew  to  drop  astern 
and  look  at  the  name.  '  We  have  to  be  certain,' 
he  says. 

"  One  of  the  men  in  the  boat  lifts  the  canvas 
and  peeks  underneath. 

" '  What  name  ? '  sings  out  the  petty  officer, 
all  ready  to  smile  at  Crump. 

"  '  Buccaneer,  of  Gloucester." 

"  '  What  ? '  he  screeches.  He  runs  aft,  pulls 
the  canvas  clear,  leans  way  over  and  looks  for 
himself.  Then  he  runs  for'ard,  bends  over  the 
knight-heads,  and  spells  it  out  there.  Back  he 
comes,  not  quite  so  spry.  '  I've  heard  of  such 
things  as  painting  over  names.  Don't  carry  this 
thing  too  far,'  he  bellows  at  Crump. 

"'Yes,'  says  Crump,  'it  do  look  like  fresh 
paint,  don't  it  ? ' 

"fThat  will  do,'  roars  the  Englishman. 
'  Where  are  your  papers  ? ' 

"  Crump  makes  a  great  bluff  to  study  some 
more.  Fin'lly  he  says,  turning  to  the  crew : 
'  Boys,  let  you  all  bear  witness  to  this  thing,  for  a 
claim  for  damages'll  come  out  of  it  sure's  I'm 
skipper  of  this  vessel  and  my  name's  Henry 
Taylor.  This  man — bear  witness  to  all  I  say, 

53 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

boys — this  man  is  acting  outside  of  his  rights 
now,  but  it  must  never  be  said  that  Gloucester 
fishermen  don't  abide  by  the  law.'  And  he  goes 
on  for  ten  minutes  or  so  in  a  patriotic  way  till  the 
Englishman  wouldn't  stand  for  any  more  of  it. 
After  that  Crump  uses  up  about  twenty  minutes 
finding  his  papers  below.  Of  course  the  papers 
were  all  right.  When  the  Englishman,  after  look 
ing  them  all  over,  had  handed  them  back,  and  as 
they  were  going  up  on  deck  again,  Crump  says, 
*  Of  course  I  might' ve  shifted  those  papers,  too, 
or  made  'em  myself  or  something  like  that.  If 
you  like  you  can  step  down  to  the  fo'c's'le  and 
see  whether  all  the  tin  pans  and  cook's  dishes  is 
properly  marked,  or ' 

" '  You  could  have  exchanged  outfits  just  the 
same.  You  could  have  met  this  vessel — '  My, 
but  he  was  hoppin'  'round,  accordin'  to  Crump, 
and  you  oughter  heard  Crump  tell  it. 

"  *  Yes,'  goes  on  Crump,  *  maybe,  and  swapped 
suits  of  sails,  too.  In  the  leach  of  that  fores'l 
that's  handy  to  you  there  maybe  you  c'n  make 
out  where  the  word  Buccaneer  is  stencilled  on — 
not  that  I  ain't  saying  it  wouldn't  be  possible  to 
swap  sails,  too — I've  heard  of  such  things  as  fit 
ting  on  sails  in  a  hurry.  I've ' 

"  c  That  will  do.  Where'd  you  get  that  seine- 
boat  r 

54 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

<c  f  And  of  course,'  goes  on  Crump,  paying  no 
attention,  f  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn,  being  a  mack 
erel  catcher,  would  be  likely  to  have  gurry  kids 
all  over  her  deck,  wouldn't  she?  and  her  hold 
full  of  fresh  fish,  too — lift  the  main  hatch  there, 
boys,  and  show  the  gentleman.' 

"  c  Where  did  you  get  that  seine-boat  ? '  yelled 
the  navy  boy. 

"  f  On  La  Have,'  yells  back  Crump.  c  Slowed 
aboard  on  La  Have  at  the  same  time  we  lost  our 
dories  and  our  tops'l.  An  awful  blow.  In  all 
my  experience ' 


<C  ( 


A  blow  on  La  Have?  See  here,  there's 
been  no  blow  off  that  way  reported  in  Halifax 
lately.' 

"  *  Maybe  not — maybe — but  there's  lots  of 
things  happens  on  La  Have  that  ain't  reported  in 
Halifax.' 

"  The  Englishman  was  fair  boiling  now,  but  at 
the  same  time  he  was  beginning  to  come  out  of 
his  dream.  All  of  a  sudden,  Crump  says,  he  puts 
his  glasses  onto  the  Echo  and  the  Quickstep  and 
then  all  at  once  he  wakes  up,  jumps  into  the  gig, 
and  sings  out,  *  Pull  away,  pull.' 

" f  Good-by,'  calls  out  Crump  after  him  in  his 
sociable  way,  (  and  next  time  you  happen  to  be  in 
Barnsley  you  might  send  me  that  tops'l  you 
think  would  fit  us  so  well.  Mark  it  "Henry  C. 

55 


On  the  Echo  o*  the  Morn 

Taylor,  Master  Schooner  Buccaneer,  Gloucester, 
Massachusetts,  U.S.A.,"  and  I'll  be  sure  to  get 
it.  Good-by,'  hollers  Crump  again,  'and  I'll  pay 
the  freight,'  but  he  says  he  didn't  get  any  answer. 

"  Well,  the  cruiser  was  pretty  near  hull  down 
to  us  when  she  come  'round  on  her  heel  again, 
thanks  to  Crump,  and  it  was  getting  pretty  late  in 
the  afternoon.  We  could  see  by  the  way  smoke 
was  coming  out  of  her  that  they  were  driving  her. 
But  the  wind  holding,  we  knew  she  couldn't  get 
us  short  of  two  hours,  and  that  gave  us  time  to 
do  something,  with  the  night  coming  on. 

"The  last  thing  we  did  on  the  Echo  for  the 
cruiser's  partic'lar  benefit  was  to  rig  up  our  side 
lights  on  the  blades  of  two  long  seiner's  oars  and 
lash  'em  straight  up  in  a  dory.  That  raised  them 
up  about  as  high  as  side-lights  ought  to  be,  y'  see. 
Then  Billie  tells  us  what  he  was  going  to  do.  The 
dory  was  lowered  over  the  side  and  I  dropped  into 
her.  He  heaves  a  splitting  knife  after  me,  and 
says,  *  You'll  need  that.'  There  was  an  everlastin' 
long  painter — a  forty-fathom  line — coiled  in  her 
bow.  Billie  hails  Soudan  and  tells  him  what  to 
do.  Soudan  throws  the  Quickstep  up  and  waits 
for  us.  The  Echo  hauls  across  the  Quickstep's 
bow  and  Billie  casts  me  off  as  the  Echo  shoots 
by.  I  hove  the  long  painter  to  the  Quickstep 
and  they  takes  it  and  drops  me  astern.  The 

56 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

Echo  goes  winging  off  with  nary  a  light  up  at  all, 
and  me  in  the  dory,  and  the  dory  like  any  vessel 
with  her  lights  up  proper  being  towed  along  to 
beat  the  devil,  in  the  wake  of  the  Quickstep,  and 
she  hauling  away  for  Minot's  Light  as  if  she  was 
crazy  to  get  to  Boston. 

"  When  the  cruiser  overhauled  us — I  could 
hear  her  screws  long  before  she  got  to  us — she 
ranges  up  to  starboard  and  sings  out  for  us  to 
heave  to.  '  Both  of  you,'  hollers  the  voice.  I 
couldn't  see  her  clear,  except  for  her  lights,  but 
I  could  hear  her  plain  enough,  for  she  lets  go  a 
blank  at  the  same  time  that  makes  me  feel  like 
curling  up  in  the  dory.  f  Blessed  Lord,'  thinks 
I,  '  if  ever  they  send  one  of  those  six-inch  fel 
lows  aboard  of  this  dory,  where'll  I  be  ? '  I  was 
praying  that  Soudan  wouldn't  try  any  of  Crump's 
tricks  and  be  too  slow  to  come  to. 

"  But  Soudan  throws  her  up  pretty  prompt 
and  waits.  Then  I  heard  the  cruiser's  falls 
makin'  ready  to  lower  away  a  boat  and  it  was  my 
move.  I  outs  with  my  splitting  knife  and  cuts 
down  the  red  light  to  get  that  out  the  way.  That 
being  to  port,  of  course  they  couldn't  see  it,  and 
I  puts  it  out  and  heaves  it  overboard.  Then  I 
cuts  away  the  starboard  oar  below,  slashes  the 
lashin's  from  the  light — the  green  light,  toward 
them — opens  the  slide,  blows  out  the  light  and 

57 


On  the  Echo  6*  the  Morn 

heaves  that  over — all  this  jumpin',  mind  you. 
Then  I  jumps  over  the  bow,  cuts  the  painter  free 
behind  me,  and  hits  out  for  the  Quickstep.  Let 
me  tell  you  I  was  drivin'. 

"  I  hadn't  got  fair  started,  hauling  myself 
along  by  the  painter  and  under  water  most  of  the 
time,  when  I  hears  : 

" '  Aboard  the  le'ward  schooner,  there  !  Put 
up  your  side-lights  again,  or  we'll  fire.' 

"  Of  course  I  didn't  say  anything  to  that,  but 
keeps  on. 

"  They  hollers  again,  gets  no  answer,  and  then 
— boom !  Man,  it  nigh  lifted  me  out  of  the 
water  !  And  boom  ! — another  one.  '  Blessed 
Lord,'  thinks  I,  c  if  one  of  them  goes  astray  and 
gets  me  in  the  small  of  the  back — '  But  all  the 
time  I  was  putting  in  big  strokes  for  the  Quick 
step,  my  hair  fair  curlin'  up  with  thinking  of  one 
of  those  shells  jibing  to  wind'ard  and  ketching  me. 

"Anyway,  I  got  aboard.  It  was  Soudan 
helped  me  over  the  stern  of  the  Quickstep. 

" '  Are  you  all  right  ? '  he  says. 

" '  All  right,'  says  I,  '  but  I  guess  the  dory's 
shook  up  some.' 

" '  Yes,'  he  says.  '  They've  spoiled  her  carryin' 
capacity  by  this  time,  I  guess.  There's  number 
eight — they'll  be  giving  her  a  broadside  soon.' 
Boom! — Boom! — Boom!  —  they  went.  'Bout 

58 


I  cuts  away  the  starboard  oar  below." 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

the  time  they  must  have  figured  out  they'd  blown 
the  Echo  out  the  water,  they  stopped.  Then  we 
could  hear  their  boats  rowin'  our  way  and  soon 
we  made  out  one  of  them  heading  for  us.  There 
was  a  warrant  officer  in  charge  of  the  one  coming 
to  board  us — the  same  lad  that  boarded  the  Buc 
caneer.  We  found  out  when  we  swapped  stories 
with  Crump  afterward. 

" '  I  say,'  this  lad  sings  out,  '  she  didn't  get 
away  that  time,  did  she  ? '  And  he  steps  over 
the  rail. 

" (  No,'  says  Soudan,  like  a  man  that'd  lost  a 
young  wife.  f  I  guess  you  fixed  her  that  time.' 

"  Pretty  soon  the  second  boat  comes  alongside. 
This  one  had  a  sure-enough  officer,  a  lootenant, 
in  charge.  He  was  sorter  worked  up.  f  Cap 
tain,'  he  says  to  Soudan,  f  I'm  sorry  for  those 
men.  Here's  all  we  found,  an  oar  and  some 
pieces  of  a  dory,  apparently,  and  some  lines 
with  hooks  in  a  half-barrel — trawls,  you  call 
them  ? ' 

" { A  tub  of  trawls,  I  guess,'  says  Soudan. 
'  Fetch  a  torch,  boys.'  He  looks  and  goes  on : 
*  Yes,  that's  one  of  their  tubs  of  trawls,  sure 
enough.' 

" <  We  could  find  nothing  else.  Isn't  it  queer  ? ' 
says  the  officer. 

"  *  The  tides  hereaway  are  queer,'  says  Soudan, 
59 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

without  so  much  as  a  wink.  '  We  are  now  over 
a  most  peculiar  place,  on  one  edge  of  Middle 
Bank,  in  Massachusetts  Bay,  and  there's  queerer 
spots  here  than  was  ever  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy  or 
on  the  Grand  Banks.' 

"  '  Really  ? '  says  the  officer. 

"'Yes,'  says  Soudan,  'for  queer  tides  and 
eddies  this  is  the  spot.  There's  been  some  mys 
terious  disappearances  traced  to  here.  But,  let 
ting  that  go,  this  is  a  bad  business,  Lootenant, 
blowing  up  the  Echo.' 

"  '  Yes,  it  certainly  is  bad — horrible.  But  they 
should  not  have  put  the  lights  out  as  they  did. 
What  were  they  thinking  of — she  directly  under 
our  guns ! ' 

" '  Yes/  says  Soudan,  '  Billie  oughter  had 
more  respect  for  a  real  man-o'-war.  Maybe 
he  thought  you  was  only  a  cutter  in  the 
dark?' 

"' Thought?  Didn't  he  see  us  just  before 
dark,  when  we  boarded  the  other  fellow,  the 
Buccaneer  ? ' 

" c  Yes,'  says  Soudan,  '  he  did.  He  must 
have.  I  saw  you  and  he  must  have.  But  it's 
liable  to  lead  to  big  things,  to  international  com 
plications — in-ter-nation-al  compli-ca-tions  ' — he 
rolls  it  out  like  an  election  orator — '  it  may  ter- 
min-ate  in  bloody  war,'  says  Soudan. 

60 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

"  *  War  ? '  says  the  officer,  studying,  e  war? ' 

"  '  Or  eye-dem-ity,'  says  Soudan.  You  oughter 
seen  Soudan  swell  out. 

" l  Possibly — very  likely — yes,  yes,  most  like 
ly,'  says  the  officer.  Then  he  takes  down  Sou 
dan's  full  name,  name  of  vessel,  name  of  vessel's 
owner,  gets  all  the  figures  he  can  about  the  Echo 
— Soudan  raising  the  builder's  price  a  few  thou 
sand — gets  Billie's  name,  and  names  of  crew  and 
all  that.  Then  he  puts  off,  goes  back  to  the 
cruiser,  the  petty  officer  with  him,  and  they 
steams  off — her  course  about  east  by  south, 
which  would  clear  Cape  Sable  and  put  her  on 
her  way  to  Halifax,  where  I  s'pose  she  got  in 
next  night  with  her  bearings  all  hot  and  a  great 
tale  to  tell. 

"  Next  morning,  when  we  came  into  Gloucester 
in  the  Quickstep,  there  was  the  Echo  lying  in 
the  stream  and  her  colors  all  set,  the  sassiest- 
looking  little  vessel  in  the  whole  North  Atlantic. 
The  city  was  just  getting  warmed  up  to  the  thing 
when  we  arrived.  The  newspapers  had  been  full 
of  the  seizure  down  East.  England,  they  said, 
was  trying  to  crowd  us  on  the  fishery  laws  and 
the  United  States  was  a  little  slow  picking  it  up, 
and  so  the  country  was  boiling  over  when  they 
heard  about  the  Echo's  escape.  It  was  speeches, 
mass  meetings,  and  editorials — all  hot — and  lots 

61 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

of  people  got  a  chance  to  blow  off  steam.  When 
the  Echo  was  reported  escaped,  there  warn't  many 
ever  really  thought  she'd  get  by  the  cutters  and 
the  cruiser  that  was  known  to  be  after  her.  Then 
there  was  the  three  days  or  so  when  they  didn't 
know  where  she  was.  So  all  Gloucester  came 
running  down  to  the  docks  when  the  word  was 
passed  that  she  was  home.  c  The  Echo's  in — 
the  Echo's  in/  was  ringing  all  over  Gloucester 
like  a  fire  alarm.  The  Quickstep  and  Buccaneer, 
coming  in  four  or  five  hours  afterward,  had  can 
nons  fired  for  'em  as  they  sailed  up  the  harbor, 
but  that  was  only  the  overflow — it  was  the  Echo's 
crew  that  got  it.  People  came  from  everywhere 
to  look  at  the  Echo  and  shake  hands  with  Billie 
and  us.  It  was  Captain  William  Simms  and  the 
darin'  crew  of  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn.  Yes,  sir. 
They  wrote  songs  about  it — half  a  dozen  or  more 
— and  City  Hall  was  lit  up  and  bonfires  in  the 
streets — in  the  middle  of  Main  Street,  man.  And 
there  was  parades  with  red  and  blue  and  green 
lights  and  all  kinds  of  queer  fireworks.  One 
showed  the  Echo  running  through  a  fleet  of 
men-o'-war,  every  blessed  one  of  'em  blazing 
broadsides  at  her  and  she  never  losing  a  spar. 
For  a  few  days  lots  of  people  didn't  do  a  tap  of 
work — just  stood  on  the  curb-stones  and  talked 
about  the  Echo.  Whenever  one  of  us  showed  up 

62 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

there'd  be  a  rush  and  we'd  have  to  tell  how  it  hap 
pened  all  over  again.  We  was  given  the  freedom 
of  the  city,  which  meant,  as  Hiram  Whitaker  said, 
that  you  could  go  into  any  bar-room  in  Gloucester 
and  order  all  the  drinks  you  wanted  and  as  many 
times  as  you  wanted  and  not  be  allowed  to  pay 
for  'em.  Hiram  cert'nly  got  drunk  that  week. 
There  was  a  purse  made  up  and  we  got  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  dollars  apiece  out  of  that,  besides 
a  good  share  from  the  two  hundred  barrels  in  her 
hold,  which  fetched  patriotic  prices,  everybody 
wantin'  to  get  hold  of  some  of  the  Echo's  mack 
erel.  It  beat  reg'lar  fishin*  all  out.  Billie  got  a 
big  solid  silver  punch-bowl,  and  there  was  smaller 
bowls  for  the  rest  of  us,  and  they  gave  me  a  mon 
strous  big  meersh'm  pipe,  gold  mounted,  with  my 
name  in  gold  letters  on  the  case.  That  was  for 
standing  by  the  lights  in  the  dory,  they  said. 
And — smoke  it? — h-m-m — no  more  than  I'm 
smoking  this  one  now — I  wonder  how  long  it's 
been  out.  I'm  bad  as  Billie  Simms  himself. 
He  never  could  keep  a  pipe  going  when  he  got 
started  talking.  When  he  got  goin',  he'd  forgot 
who  made  him — man,  the  imagination  he  had ! 
But  if  somebody'll  give  me  another  match — and 
is  there  anything  at  all  left  in  that  bowl  there, 
Sylvie?" 

"  Oh,  there's  a  good  round  left  yet,  Wesley." 
63 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

"  Enough  to  sluice  out  the  scuppers  with, 
ch?" 

"  Just  about.  And  the  passenger  here  wants 
to  know  if  you'll  sing  one  of  the  Echo's  songs — 
the  one  they  sang  at  the  big  banquet.  You  got 
time.  Just  a  second  now,  Wesley,  boy.  There  ! 
— there's  one  swashing  over  the  rail  for  you. 
Here  you  go,  Prentice — here's  for  you,  John 
Harkins,  and  pass  that  to  the  passenger.  All 
you  others  reach  over  and  get  your  own,  and 
stand  by  while  Wesley  sings.  Hold  up  a  second 
yet — draw  the  curtains  there  and  let  in  a  little 
light — the  sun's  most  up.  Might's  well  open 
up  the  windows,  hadn't  we,  and  let  some  of  this 
smoke  blow  away  ? — it's  as  thick  as  any  banker's 
fo'c's'le  on  the  run  home.  Smells  fine  and  sweet, 
that,  don't  it?  It's  the  last  of  the  sou'wester — 
there'll  be  mackerel  schoolin'  after  this  little  blow, 
fellows.  Maybe  a  full  hold  for  some  of  us  to 
day,  if  cutters  don't  get  too  fresh.  I  swear,  but 
some  day  we  ought  to  turn,  three  or  four  crews  of 
us,  and  gaff  one  of  them,  hah  ? — and  tear  'round 
down  the  coast  and  chase  everything  that  ain't 
American  into  harbor  when  mackerel  is  school 
ing, — hah,  Wesley  ?  " 

"  Ho,  but  Billie  Simms'd  be  the  boy  for  that, 
Sylvie.  Well,  here's  a  shoot  and  devil  take  the 
cutters — no,  no,  they  have  that  for  their  work,  I 

64 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

s'pose.  Here's  to  fish  a  plenty  for  all  of  you, 
and  to  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn." 

"  Drive  her,  Wesley,  drive  her,"  voiced  Sylvie 
for  the  bunch,  "and  stand  by  all  hands  while 
Wesley  sings." 

So  Wesley  sang.  His  attitude  was  character 
istic — left  hand  deep  in  his  waistband  pocket  and 
right  hand  gripping  his  glass ;  one  shoulder 
braced  to  wind'ard  and  feet  well  apart,  to  meet 
the  heave  of  the  deck,  evidently ;  eyes  bent  on 
the  lookouts  at  the  forem'st-head  and  a  voice 
pitched  to  reach  that  same  forem'st-head  with 
certainty,  against  a  fresh  and  rising  head  breeze 
— standing  so,  as  if  he  were  to  the  wheel,  Wesley 
sang  the  ballad  of  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn. 
Twelve  or  fourteen  good  stanzas  there  were,  the 
plain  tale  of  the  Echo  all  over,  done  into  rhyme 
by  a  fo'c's'le  poet,  who  must  have  held  in  high 
esteem  the  vessel  and  her  crew  and  those  very 
able  auxiliaries,  "  Crump  "  Taylor  and  "  Soudan  " 
McLeod : 

From  the  loft  we  took  her  sails,  and  bent  'em  in  the  night, 
And  sailed  her  out  the  harbor,  with  cutters  left  and  right. 


Sou 'west  by  su'the  we  drove  her  till  the  sea  was  fair  aroar, 
And  we  never  touched  a  halyard  as  to  La  Have  we  bore. 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

Lights  out  and  southern  courses,  let  her  head  come  round, 
Devil  take  the  British  forces,  here's  the  Echo  homeward  bound. 

Crump  Taylor  towed  her  seine-boat,  Soudan  towed  her  lights, 
And  the  Echo  slipped  the  cruiser  in  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

So  Wesley  sailed  the  Echo  again,  omitting  not 
a  single  course  of  the  lively  vessel  nor  a  single 
order  of  the  audacious  Billie,  sailed  her  from  the 
dock  at  Barnsley,  out  the  harbor,  down  the  coast, 
off  to  La  Have  Bank,  westerly  again,  across  the 
Bay  of  Fundy  and  into  Massachusetts  Bay,  till  at 
length  he  sailed  her  up  the  harbor  of  Gloucester 
and  rounded  her  to  off  the  owner's  dock,  very 
proudly,  with  colors  gayly  flying,  to  main  peak 
and  both  trucks.  Wesley's  fellow-skippers  en 
tered  heartily  into  the  chorus.  "  Drive  her,  boys, 
drive  her — give  her  a  full  now  and  drive  her," 
they  said.  And  under  Wesley's  pilotage  they 
drove  her: 

Here's  to  the  keel  of  her,  here's  to  the  sails  of  her, 
The  mast  and  the  hemp  and  the  deck  and  the  rails  of  her; 
Here's  to  the  length,  and  the  depth,  and  the  beam  of  her, 
To  every  blessed  plank  and  bolt  and  every  blessed  seam  of  her. 
Here's  to  the  everlastin*  glory  of  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn. 

And— 

May  she  live  to  sail  away,  to  the  boom  of  Judgment-day, 
When  we  hope  to  see  her  sailin'  to  the  toot  of  Gabr'el's  horn. 

With  feet  well  braced  and  bodies  swaying,  the 
66 


On  the  Echo  o'  the  Morn 

skippers  roared  the  toast  after  a  fashion  that  must 
have  carried  every  syllable  of  every  line  to  every 
awakening  sleeper  in  the  block. 

They  themselves  liked  the  effect  of  it  so  well 
that  they  sang  it  over  again,  and  it  was  to  the 
long  roll  of  one  particularly  sluggish  line, 

To  every  blessed  plank  and  bolt  and  every  blessed  seam  of  her, 

that  they  heaved  themselves  out  and  down  the 
side  street.  From  here,  with  the  rhythmic  tramp 
of  mariners  ashore,  they  wore  into  the  main  street, 
bore  s'utherly,  chanting  all  the  while,  though  so 
berly  and  with  less  exuberation  now,  for  the  city 
was  coming  awake  and  beginning  to  stare.  And 
by  and  by  they  jibed  over  to  their  dock,  where 
boisterous  crews  in  waiting  were  trolling  farewell 
ditties  of  their  own. 

They  piled  into  their  seine-boats,  and  with 
long  oars  and  a  monstrous  big  one  steering  they 
all  drove  out  into  the  harbor.  They  raced  past 
the  big  dry  dock,  past  the  revenue  cutters,  their 
hereditary  enemies,  now  with  steam  up,  past  the 
Admiral's  great  battle-ship  and  her  attendant 
cruisers — the  best  part  of  the  British  North  At 
lantic  squadron — past  all  these  and  other  miscel 
laneous  craft,  until,  with  the  booming  of  the 
morning  gun  from  the  Citadel,  they  were  in 
among  their  own  again. 

67 


FROM     REYKJAVIK     TO 
GLOUCESTER 


'Twas  sou'  sou' -west, 
Then  west  sou' -west. 

From  Rik-ie-vik  to  Gloucester} 
*Twas  strainin'  sails 
And  buried  rails 

Aboard  the  Lucy  Foster. 

Her  planks  did  creak 
From  post  to  peak, 

Her  topm'sts  bent  like  willow  ; 
"  I'll  bust  her  spars," 
Says  Wesley  Marrs, 

«  But  I'll  beat  the  Bounding  Billow." 

— Gloucester  Fithermetfi  Song. 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 


LEV  ATE  D  above  the  head  of  a  deep  wharf- 
slip,  low  flanked  by  a  ship-chandler's  shop 
to  one  side  and  a  sail-maker's  loft  to  another, 
commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  docks  and  harbor 
beneath,  and  of  the  bay  beyond,  perched  up 
where  nothing  coming  or  going  past  Eastern 
Point  will  fail  to  be  noticed  —  this  is  the  lookout 
tower  of  the  Great  Eastern  Fish  Company  of 
the  port  of  Gloucester,  which,  be  it  known,  is  the 
first  fish  mart  of  our  country.  In  the  official 
bulletins  of  the  company  this  place  is  known 
as  the  "  Observatory,"  but  in  the  every-day 
speech  of  the  fishermen  of  Gloucester  it  is  bet 
ter  and  more  fittingly  described  as  the  "  Crow's 
Nest." 

To  attain  this  aerie  it  is  needful  to  go  round 
and  round  long  flights  of  steps,  that  creak  to  your 
weight  and  sway  to  the  wind  as  you  climb.  After 
you  get  there,  you  find  a  room  of  three  flat  walls 
and  a  rounded  front,  of  which  the  rear,  or  west 
side,  is  blocked  off  by  the  staircase  whereby  you 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

came.  Coast  charts,  bank  soundings,  world  maps, 
and  magazine  illustrations  of  a  nautical  and  sport 
ing  nature  are  tacked  to  the  wall  on  your  left. 
On  the  wall  at  your  right — the  southerly — are 
several  pairs  of  marine  glasses,  a  long  telescope, 
and  an  aneroid  barometer,  hung  from  nails  driven 
here  and  there,  wherever  space  is  to  be  found 
among  the  relief  models  of  what  all  men  know  to 
be  fast-sailing  fishermen.  A  fresh  varnished  but 
much  dented  spar,  an  old  topmast  most  likely, 
butts  through  the  centre  of  the  ceiling  and  is 
braced  to  the  floor. 

The  east  side  is  all  of  glass.  This  is  the  side 
that  opens  on  to  a  little  quarter-deck  balcony,  and 
looks  out  to  sea.  This  balcony  may  be  entirely 
closed  in  by  an  arrangement  of  shutters  that 
work  over  and  down  like  companion  hatches, 
although  you  find  out  later  that  you  have  to 
climb  to  the  upper  deck  by  way  of  an  outside 
rope  ladder  to  make  them  work.  In  the  centre 
of  one  of  the  hatches,  when  you  come  to  look,  is 
a  brass-bound  port-hole,  plainly  intended  for 
stormy  weather.  A  realistic  bit  of  railing,  really 
the  taffrail  of  a  fisherman  wrecked  off  Thatcher's, 
is  there  to  guard  the  unwary — once  over  the  low 
rail  and  you  are  down  to  the  waters  of  the  dock. 
There  is  a  row  of  scuppers  along  the  balcony's 
deck,  and  under  the  rail  are  a  couple  of  cleats,  to 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

which  are  made  fast  the  halyards  that  run  to  the 
flag  at  the  masthead. 

Only  one  chair  is  in  this  place,  after  the  fashion 
of  up-to-date  fishermen,  which  always  carry  a 
hinged  chair  in  the  cabin  for  the  skipper's  use. 
This  chair  is  for  the  lookout  on  duty.  All  others 
must  sit  on  the  lockers  against  the  walls,  or  squat 
on  the  stair-landing  at  the  rear,  or  content  them 
selves  with  leaning  over  the  stern  of  the  quarter 
deck.  All  this  goes  to  make  up  the  famous 
"  Crow's  Nest,"  of  that  abode  of  modern  vikings, 
the  fishing  port  of  Gloucester. 

It  is  the  business  of  the  lookout  on  duty  to 
take  his  station  in  front  of  the  window  and  watch 
for  incoming  vessels.  If  it  is  a  fine  day,  like  this 
one,  he  will  hoist  the  window-sashes  back  to  the 
pulleys,  push  forward  his  chair,  and  rest  his  feet 
on  the  rail.  When  he  sights  an  inbound  fisher 
man,  he  will  identify  her  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment,  and  make  immediate  report  of  same  to 
the  office. 

Two  men  are  paid  for  this  work,  each  standing 
watch  in  his  turn.  Being  keen  of  eye  and  ac 
quainted  with  the  minutest  peculiarities  of  every 
schooner  in  the  fleet,  these  men  can  name  vessels 
at  incredible  distances.  In  some  cases,  where 
neither  knowledge  nor  eyesight  could  possibly 
avail,  they  make  marvellous  guesses — for  which 

73 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

they  do  not  attempt  to  account.  It  may  be  a 
sixth  sense  that  enables  them  to  pick  out  and 
identify  a  vessel  while  she  is  yet  but  a  blur  in  the 
haze  to  most  of  us. 

Their  business,  as  has  been  said,  is  to  make 
early  report  of  incoming  vessels.  They  do  that 
very  well,  and  it  is  for  that  they  are  paid ;  but  their 
pleasure  and  their  most  arduous  occupation  lies  in 
the  absorbing  art  of  conversation.  In  the  skilful 
development  of  this  faculty  they  are  aided  by  a 
volunteer  staff  of  regular  callers,  who  much  prefer 
to  put  in  time  at  this  congenial  observatory  than 
to  attend  to  any  fatiguing  business  that  might 
arise  to  meet  them  were  they  to  stroll  incautious 
ly  along  the  wharves. 

What  subject  might  suggest  itself  to  the  council 
of  Crow's  Nest  at  any  particular  lull,  no  prophet 
could  say  with  certainty  ;  but  on  a  day  like  this, 
a  beautiful  summer  morning,  with  a  gentle  east 
erly  sighing  in  over  the  rail,  and  the  docks  and 
the  harbor  below  alive  with  the  loading  and  out 
fitting  of  many  seiners,  it  could  not  very  well  get 
far  away  from  the  doings  of  the  mackerel  fleet. 

Fourteen  of  the  seining  fleet  were  in,  and  this 
favorable  easterly  would  be  sure  to  bring  in  more. 
It  had  been  an  extraordinary  season  for  the 
seiners.  There  was  plenty  of  mackerel  to  be 
had,  and  they  were  bringing  great  prices.  Stocks 

74 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

of  three  and  four  thousand  dollars  were  getting 
common  for  vessels,  and  men  no  longer  boasted 
of  sharing  anything  under  a  hundred  dollars  for 
a  short  trip.  It  promised  to  be  an  unprecedented 
season  altogether,  and  the  watchers  in  the  tower, 
when  next  they  resumed  the  conversation,  were 
disposed  to  rejoice. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  for  Gloucester,  it's  a  fine 
thing  for  the  men,"  observed  the  lookout  in  the 
chair.  "  Won't  be  so  many  have  to  go  to 
Georges  or  the  big  banks  this  winter  to  find  grub 
and  rent  for  the  wife  and  children.  Here's  a  lad 
coming  in  now — wait,  till  I  make  sure  with  the 
glass — yes,  the  Lucy  Foster.  Bill,  report  the 
Lucy  Foster,  Captain  Marrs,  to  the  office,  will 
you  ?  Ten  days  she's  been  gone.  This  lad'll 
be  glad  enough  for  a  good  mackerel  season,  for 
he  does  hate  haddockin'  in  winter.  He  went 
last  winter,  and  he  says  he's  had  enough  of  that 
kind  offishin'." 

"  Shouldn't  think  he'd  have  to — the  money 
he's  made,  Petie." 

"  No,  he  oughtn't  to,  but  Wesley's  been  a 
spender.  But  this  spring,  before  he  went  on  the 
southern  mackerel  cruise,  he  gave  it  out  that  he 
was  going  to  save.  I  don't  know  myself  what's 
drivin'  him — he's  close-mouthed  enough  for  all 
he's  so  reckless  some  ways.  But  I  wouldn't  be 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

surprised  if  he  was  stowin'  away  something 
against  getting  married  this  fall.  He's  certainly 
piling  up  a  stock  and  hustlin'  as  if  he  intended 
to  have  a  little  salvage  to  draw  on  when  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  stop  ashore  a  winter  and  start 
housekeeping.  And  if  he  does  get  married,  J 
s'pose  that  ends  the  Lucy  for  carryin*  the  broom. 
I  don't  expect  we'll  hear  of  any  more  piling  on 
sail  to  see  how  much  she  really  can  stand  up 
under,  or  layin*  her  over  to  see  how  far  she'll  go 
without  capsizing." 

"  Why  ? "  put  in  one  of  those  slow-witted 
ones,  who  must  always  have  things  explained  in 
detail. 

"  Why  ?  why  ?  "  snorted  the  man  in  the  chair. 
"  Did  y'ever  see  any  of  the  drivers  keep  it  up 
long  after  gettin*  married  ?  Don't  it  tame  the 
wildest  of  'em  when  they  get  to  thinkin'  that 
p'raps  the  wife  and  children's  waitin'  for  them  at 
the  end  of  the  trip  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  dunno.  I  don't  see  as  Archie  Nich 
ols  slacked  any  since  he  got  married." 

"  Archie  Nichols  ?  Good  Lord !  does  he 
count?  Married  a  no-use  woman  that's  druv 
him  to  drink  and  worse  things  than  he  ever  took 
up  with  before.  Leave  Archie  out.  And  look 
at  the  others.  There's  Tommy  Bolton  now. 
What  do  his  crew  tell  you  about  him  now  ? 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

Do  you  hear  of  him  pullin'  the  spars  out  of  his 
vessel  since  he  settled  down  to  a  home  of  his 
own  ?  Can't  you  see  him  any  afternoon  now  be 
tween  trips  walking  down  Main  Street  abreast  of 
his  little  woman  and  the  latest  fat  baby  on  his 
arm  ?  Ever  hear  of  Billie  Simms  in  this  year  o' 
grace  havin'  to  go  on  the  railway  'bout  every 
other  trip  or  so  to  have  the  Henry  Clay  Parker 
overhauled  for  strained  seams  for'ard  ?  I  guess 
not.  Nor  Wesley  Marrs,  nowadays  ;  and  he's 
only  engaged,  at  the  worst — tryin'  to  see  what  he 
can  do  with  the  Lucy  without  getting  her  hove 
down.  I  guess  not." 

"  I  say,  Peter,"  inserted  a  subtle  one,  who 
measured  exactly  the  temper  of  the  sage  in  the 
chair,  and  was  eager  to  forward  the  psychological 
moment,  "  was  Wesley  Marrs  such  a  devil  for 
driving,  after  all  ?  " 

"  Devil  ?  He  was  all  the  devils,  when  it  came 
to  carryin'  sail.  Now  I  was  with  him  three  years. 
My  last  trip,  when  I  fell  from  the  masthead  in 
among  the  gurry  kids  and  broke  my  knee-cap,  I 
was  with  Wesley  Marrs  in  the  Lucy  Foster.  I'm 
telling  you  this  man'd  spread  a  whole  mains'l  to 
a  gale  as  quick  as  your  wife  or  mine'd  hang  out 
a  bed-sheet  to  the  sun.  When  a  sail  went  into 
the  air^busted — Wesley  used  to  follow  it  with 
his  eyes  and  then  say,  surprised-like :  '  Don't 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

it  beat  hell — the  rotten  canvas  they  puts  on  ves 
sels  these  days  ? ' 

"You  must  have  been  with  him,  Peter,  when 
that  record  run  was  made  from  Iceland — when 
the  Lucy  and  the  English  yacht  had  their  big 
race." 

"  Was  I  ?  Twenty-eight  hundred  miles,  they 
call  it,  from  Rikievik  to  Gloucester,  and  the 
Lucy  came  down  in  nine  days  and  ten  hours. 
That's  going,  people,  for  any  vessel ;  but  this 
one  that  time  had  her  hold  full  of  fletched 
halibut." 

"  What  was  it  brought  him  along  so  fast  ?  " 

"  Well — I  guess  wind  had  as  much  to  do  with 
it  as  anything.  Just  plain  wind,  out  of  the  bosom 
of  the  North  Atlantic,  and  p'raps  a  little,  just  a 
little,  of  Wesley  Marrs'  drivin'  her." 

"  Who  beat  ?  "  interjected  a  voice  that  should 
never  have  been  allowed  to  disturb  the  silence  of 
this  generally  well-posted  company. 

The  man  in  the  chair  looked  around  with  much 
curiosity  to  discover  the  inquirer.  It  was  a  young 
fellow,  plainly  not  long  in  Gloucester,  one  of 
those  lads  who  so  frequently  come  there  to  try 
fishing — and  quite  often  make  good  fishermen — 
but  who  are  sometimes  a  great  trial  to  their  friends 
while  acquiring  the  rudiments. 

"  Who  beat  ?  "  echoed  Peter  in  scorn.  "  And 
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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

whend  you  get  in  and  where  d  you  get  your 
fish  ? " 

"  I  say,  Peter,"  put  in  the  subtle  questioner  on 
whom  devolved  the  duty  of  holding  the  story  to 
its  course,  "  were  you  there  when  the  match  was 
made  ?  " 

"  Was  1  ?  Warn't  the  skipper  and  me  and  Joe 
Lane  gittin'  down  to  a  little  table  over  a  glass — 
you  don't  stand  up  to  a  bar  there  generally — and 
the  skipper  was  pretty  well  pleased.  You  see  he'd 
only  bought  out  the  Wild  Irishman's  half  of  the 
Lucy  late  that  spring  and  this  was  his  first  trip. 
He  paid  $5,000  cash  for  the  Irishman's  half — our 
firm  owned  the  other  half  same  as  now.  And  the 
last  thing  the  Irishman  said  when  he  signed  the 
papers  and  took  the  money  was  :  *  Now,  Wesley, 
b'y,  you're  gettin'  a  great  vessel — fourteen  thou 
sand  to  build,  but  we'll  say  nothing  of  that.  You're 
gettin'  a  vessel  that  nothing  of  her  tonnage  any 
where  can  sail  away  from.  While  I  owned  her 
she  was  the  jewel  of  the  fleet.  Don't  let  anything 
cross  her  bow,  Wesley,  b'y.'  The  Irishman  went 
to  the  Pacific  Coast  that  time  to  look  up  seals 
Behring  Sea  way. 

"  Well,  Wesley  was  telling  us  about  that  very 
talk  with  the  Irishman  and  saying  how  the  Lucy 
could  sail  and  everything  like  that.  You  know 
how  he'd  be  likely  to  carry  on  talkin'  'bout  his 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

vessel.  This  swell-dressed  Englishman  was  takin* 
it  all  in.  We  didn't  know  who  he  was,  though 
we  suspicioned  he  was  English  every  time  we 
looked  at  him.  At  last  he  mixes  in.  He  says : 

" '  Excuse  me,  but  I  gather  you  are  fishermen 
up  here  for  halibut  ? ' 

" '  You're  right,'  says  Wesley. 

"  <  From  the  States  ? ' 

"  *  From  America  ?  Yes — from  Gloucester,' 
says  Wesley. 

" '  Ah,  from  Gloucester.  Fine,  able  fishermen 
from  there,  I  hear,' — he  kind  of  drawed  his  words 
out — *  hardy,  courageous,  fine,  able  seamen ' 

" '  And  fine  able  vessels,'  says  Wesley,  warmin' 
up  right  away.  We  guessed  easy  enough  what 
was  in  Wesley's  mind.  Somebody  or  other'd 
been  writing  stories  'bout  Gloucester  fishermen 
'bout  that  time  and  putting  them  in  the  old  style 
pinkies  and  square-ended  tubs  that  was  the  fashion 
when  some  of  your  fathers  and  mine  went  to  sea. 
I  never  yet  went  among  strangers  in  any  of  the 
new  vessels  that  they  didn't  seem  to  be  surprised 
at  the  build  of  our  vessels,  and,  of  course,  the 
Lucy  Foster  and  a  few  others  of  that  model  struck 
'em  dumb.  Anyway,  to  get  along  with  the  story, 
the  Englishman  was  surprised  to  hear  that  the 
Lucy  was  a  fisherman — he'd  an  eye  for  fine  ves 
sels,  y'see — and  had  noticed  her  in  the  harbor. 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

But  he  didn't  know  much  about  our  kind  of 
people  and  Wesley  kind  of  explained  some  things 
to  him. 

"  Then  the  Englishman  told  his  story.  He 
owned  the  big  schooner  yacht,  the  all-white  fellow 
with  the  varnished  top-rails  and  yellow  stripe 
along  the  run.  We'd  had  an  eye  on  her,  by  the 
way,  and  a  handsome  craft  she  was.  That  was  his 
cruiser.  He'd  come  in  the  day  before  from  some 
queer  place  on  the  coast  of  Norway  and  he  didn't 
see  anything  in  Rikievik  to  hold  him.  He  was 
bound  for  America  next  by  way  of  Boston,  New 
port,  New  York,  Baltimore,  and  so  on  down, 
so's  to  be  among  the  West  Indies  for  the 
winter. 

"  Well,  he  was  a  pretty  hot  sport,  this  one,  and 
you  all  know  the  kind  of  a  boy  Wesley  used  to 
be  when  anybody  spoke  against  his  Lucy.  They 
had  an  argument,  back  to  the  days  of  the  old 
America  and  all  that.  Finally,  they  'greed  to  race 
to  Gloucester.  The  Englishman  said  he'd  just 
as  leave  run  into  Gloucester  so  long  as  it  was  so 
handy  to  Boston. 

"  This  Englishman  was  all  right.  He  says 
about  the  money :  *  Your  word  is  sufficient  for 
me,  Captain.  Men  that  look  like  you  will  pay 
up.  If  you  lose,  you  pay  over  a  thousand  dol 
lars.  If  I  lose,  I  pay  over  to  you  a  thousand, 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

to  settle  as  soon  as  both  boats  get  into  Gloucester. 
And  in  the  matter  of  time  allowance — the  Bound 
ing  Billow,  you  must  have  noticed,  is  half  as  big 
again  as  you  are.  She  isn't  loaded  down  like  you, 
and  I  can  afford  to  give  it.  She  has  never  been 
beaten  at  ocean  racing,  by  the  way,  and  I  am 
willing  to  give  you  time  allowance  for  our  larger 
measurement.' 

" '  To  hell  with  time  allowance,'  says  Wesley. 
'When  fishermen  race,  they  all  start  together. 
And  first  vessel  home  wins.  You're  a  little 
longer  and  more  beam  and  draught — let  it  go. 
And's  for  being  loaded  down — the  Lucy  could 
stow  away  half  as  many  more  halibut,  and  I  wish 
she  had  it,  the  way  halibut's  been  this  summer. 
Don't  worry  about  the  Lucy.  Those  couple  of 
hundred  thousand  of  fletched  halibut  down  below 
'11  just  give  her  a  grip  on  things — sort  o'  stiffen 
her  up  and  keep  her  from  layin'  over  too  much 
when  it  comes  to  blow — and  it's  coming  to  blow 
or  I  don't  know.  There'll  be  wind  stirrin'  before 
you  or  me  see  Eastern  Point,  and  the  vessel 
that'll  carry  the  sail'll  be  the  lad  for  the  trip.  I 
tell  you,  man,  with  all  of  these  September  gales 
coming  our  way,  you  won't  think  you're  yachting 
off  Cowes.  I  hope  your  gear's  been  overhauled 
lately,'  says  Wesley,  and  with  that  they  left  to 
get  things  ready. 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

"  There  was  a  gentle  gale  stirrin'  from  the 
no'th'ard  when  we  sailed  out  of  Rikievik  next 
day,  Friday.  Wesley  liked  the  look  o*  things 
pretty  well.  We  put  out  behind  the  English 
man,  him  under  two-reefed  mains'l  and  the  Lucy 
under  a  single  reef — two  jibs  and  whole  fores'l, 
both  of  us.  That  was  along  'bout  dark.  Wesley 
didn't  make  any  attempt  to  push  by  the  yacht — 
just  laid  to  wind'ard  of  her.  He  did  love  to  get 
to  wind'ard  of  a  vessel — lay  off  her  quarter  and 
watch  her.  And  for  most  of  the  rest  of  that 
night,  we  stayed  there  so. 

"  When  the  sun  ought  to  have  been  pretty 
near  to  showin'  up  again,  Wesley  says  :  *  Boys, 
I  can't  see  but  what  the  Lucy's  holdin'  her  own, 
and  I  guess  we'll  wear  off  to  the  east'ard  just  a 
little.  We  might's  well  get  out  of  sight  of  this 
fellow  quick's  we  can  now.  I've  a  notion,  too, 
this  breeze'll  be  coming  from  that  quarter  before 
a  great  while,  and  there's  nothing  the  Lucy  likes 
quite  so  well  as  to  take  it  just  a  tri-i-fle  slanting 
when  it  blows.' 

"  I  don't  know  whether  the  Bounding  Billow 
people  saw  us  get  away  or  not — p'r'aps  they 
didn't  care.  Anyway,  they  didn't  come  after  us. 
We  sunk  their  port  light  down  afore  daylight, 
and  by  good  sun-up  there  wasn't  a  sail  of  her  in 
sight. 

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From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

"  Well,  it  didn't  come  to  blow  same's  Wesley 
thought  it  would  and,  nacherally,  he  was  roarin* 
'round  fine.  We  shook  out  the  reef  in  the 
mains'l  before  noon-time  of  that  first  day,  and 
later  we  set  both  tops'ls  and  that  whoppin'  gauze 
balloon  of  the  Lucy's.  And  she  carried  'em  easy, 
too.  We  warn't  loafing  altogether ;  we  was  makin* 
nine  knots  right  straight  along.  But  that  wasn't 
pleasing  Wesley. 

"  Next  day  and  the  next  it  was  the  same  story, 
and  part  of  the  next  day  it  was  lighter  yet.  We 
hove  the  log,  and  got  only  eight  knots  for  twenty- 
four  hours  hand-runnin'.  Then,  almost  all  at 
once,  from  a  nice  summer  breeze  it  jumped  to 
a  gale.  And  it  was  a  gale — one  of  those  healthy, 
able  zephyrs  that  makes  up  north  there  and  gets 
a  good  runnin'  start  afore  it  tears  things  loose 
in  the  forties. 

"  Whoo-o-ish  it  whistled  !  A  regular  old  bus 
ter  of  a  no'theaster — whoo-o-ish  ! — and  Wesley 
dancin'  on  and  off  the  break  while  he  watched  it 
comin'  on.  *  I'm  thinkin','  he  says,  'we  can  stow 
some  of  those  summer  kites  for  a  while.  Might 
put  the  tops'ls  in  gaskets,  boys,  and  that  balloon 
in  stops.  We  won't  be  likely  to  need  them  any 
more  this  trip.  This  is  the  breeze  I've  been 
waiting  for — struck  in  a  little  late,  but  it'll  make 
up  for  lost  time  soon.' 

84 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

"  And  it  sure  was  making  up  for  lost  time. 
The  mains'l  pretty  soon  had  to  be  tucked  up, 
and  on  the  next  day  tucked  again.  And 
before  another  day  we  had  to  take  it  in  alto 
gether,  get  the  trys'l  out  the  hold  and  fit  that 
on.  Now  you  know  it  was  blowing  some  when 
Wesley  Marrs  had  the  Lucy  under  a  trys'l  and 
a  yachtin*  fellow  somewhere  'round  racing  him 
for  a  thousand  dollars  a  side ;  and,  what  was 
more,  the  name  of  the  thing  after  they  got  into 
Gloucester. 

"  We  went  that  way  for  thirty-odd  hours,  and 
Wesley  was  almost  satisfied.  'Maybe,'  says  he, 
'  if  this  fine  breeze  holds,  we'll  make  up  for 
those  yachtin'  days  in  the  fifties.  What  kind  of 
weather,  fellows,  do  you  s'pose  the  Bounding 
Billow's  making  of  it  ?  Think  now  she's  hand 
ling  it  like  the  Lucy,  hay  ?  I'd  give  something 
to  know  if  she's  carryin'  a  whole  fores'l  and  both 
jibs  right  now.  Boys,'  he  says,  *  but  this  is  fine 
weather.  In  forty-eight  hours,  and  this  fine 
breeze  holds,  we'll  be  raisin*  Thatcher's  twin 
lights ! '  Wesley  was  mighty  well  satisfied  with 
the  way  things  was  lookin'  just  then. 

"  That  was  Friday  night  late.  After  midnight 
it  was,  for  I  went  on  watch  at  twelve  o'clock. 
I  remember  well  Wesley  and  Murdie  Greenlaw 
at  the  wheel  when  I  came  out  of  the  cabin  door 

85 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

to  go  for'ard.  We  was  driving  through  it  and 
she  layin'  over.  Man',  but  she  was  layin'  over. 
I'll  tell  you  how  she  was  layin'  over.  That 
very  afternoon  it  was  that  Billie  Henderson  had 
walked  along  her  weather  run  from  her  stern 
to  her  fore-rigging.  You've  heard  of  that  trick, 
some  of  you.  Yes,  sir — we  had  a  line  on  him 
in  case  he  slipped — that's  the  truth. 

"  Well,  it  must  have  been  getting  on  toward 
one  o'clock,  for  I  was  figuring  on  being  called  aft 
to  take  the  wheel  for  my  second  hour;  and  then 
in  one  more  hour  a  fellow  could  go  below  and 
dry  off  and  have  a  good  sleep.  We  were  driving 
through  it — two  jibs,  fores'l  and  trys'l.  We 
hadn't  seen  the  top  of  her  port-rail  for  more  than 
two  days ;  and  this  was  one  of  those  nights  when 
the  water  gets  full  of  phosphorus.  It'd  been 
a  new  moon  gone  down,  and  rain  that  morning, 
and  you  all  know  how  the  water  fires  after  rain 
and  a  new  moon.  It  was  fair  afire  now.  And 
the  Lucy  !  she  was  leapin'  from  the  top  of  one  sea 
to  the  top  of  another.  We  made  a  lane  you 
could  see  for  a  cable  length  behind,  and  there 
was  blue  smoke,  I  swear,  coming  from  each 
side. 

"  Her  nose  would  poke  under  and  we  would 
get  it  all  over.  I  had  my  elbow  crooked  in  the 
fore-rigging  so  I  wouldn't  wash  off.  When  she'd 

86 


Leapin'   from  the  top  of  one  sea  to  the  top  of  another. 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

rise,  she'd  throw  the  water  over  her  shoulder,  and 
it'd  run  the  whole  length  of  her  deck  and  race 
over  the  taffrail.  That  was  only  the  spray,  mind 
you.  She  was  taking  it  over  the  rail  all  the  time, 
besides,  as  if  she  had  no  rail  at  all.  The  skipper 
and  Murdie  at  the  wheel  must've  been  pulp. 
Three  or  four  others  were  in  the  waist — five  or 
six  men  besides  the  skipper  had  to  be  on 
deck  all  the  time.  We  was  all  in  oilskins  and 
red-jacks,  of  course,  and  we  was  all  properly 
soaked. 

"  Well,  we  was  whoopin'  along;  we'd  just  shot 
by  some  lumberin'  old  tramp  steamer  that  was 
making  awful  bad  weather  of  it,  and  somebody 
in  the  waist'd  just  called  out,  *  We're  this  far, 
anyway,  thank  the  Lord.'  The  cook  had  his 
head  out  the  fo'c's'le  gangway — just  a  narrow  slit 
to  sing  out  to  us  on  deck — when  we  saw  the  skip 
per  jump  into  the  main  riggin'  and  look  ahead, 
and  then  jump  back  on  deck  again  as  if  he  saw 
a  ghost.  He  hollers  : 

" c  If  there  ain't  the  Englishman  ahead,  and 
carryin'  a  two-reefed  mains'l!  A  two-reefed  main- 
s'l !  And  goin'  like  a  liner  !  I'll  be  damned  if 
I'll  stand  on  the  deck  of  the  Lucy  Foster  and 
see  the  Bounding  Billow  beat  her  home.  I'll 
bust  the  Lucy's  spars,  but  I'll  beat  him.  Bend 
on  the  stays'l.  I  guess  the  Lucy  can  carry  as 

87 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

much  sail  as  that  window-frame  boat.  Bend  on 
that  stays'l.' 

"  You  can  bet  that  shook  the  boys  up.  A 
stays'l !  And  her  planks  rattlin'  then !  Dan 
Ross — most  of  you  know  Dan — big  Dan,  that 
was  lost  on  the  Fredonia  afterward — Dan  was 
nearest  me  under  the  weather  rail.  He  says, 
'  I'll  fix  that  stays'l.'  And  he  did  fix  her,  as  he 
thought.  He  yanks  the  halyards  loose  and  they 
goes  flyin'  aloft.  We  could  just  make  them  out 
slinging  between  the  fore  and  main  rigging — like 
long  devils,  with  the  block  on  the  end. 

"  Dan  hollers  out :  '  Stays'l  halyard-ends  loose 
and  can't  get  hold  of  'em — they're  aloft.' 

"  The  skipper  says :  '  Go  after  them.' 

"  Dan  roars  back :  *  What  do  you  take  me 
for?' 

" '  For  a  man,'  hollers  the  skipper ;  *  but  I 
guess  I  was  mistaken.' 

" '  Show  me  a  man  crazy  enough  to  go  after 
them,'  says  Dan. 

"  *  Here's  one,'  roars  the  skipper,  and  so  help 
me,  if  he  didn't  start  aloft.  Blowing?  My 
blessed  soul,  we  needed  cotton  hooks  to  hang  on 
by.  The  boys  was  curled  up  under  the  wind'ard 
rail  with  their  fingers  into  the  ring-bolts.  And  up 
went  Wesley  Marrs — to  looard,  mind  you.  And 
however  he  managed  it — we  couldn't  half  make 

88 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

out  what  he  was  doing  up  there — but  he  got  hold 
of  them. 

"  Down  he  comes  with  the  ends  fast  around  his 
waist.  {  Here,'  he  says  to  Dan,  f  take  hold  of 
that.'  He  unwound  about  two  fathom  of  it. 
1  That's  one  end  of  the  stays'l  halyards  you  run 
aloft  a  little  while  back.  That  snaps  into  the 
after  upper  corner  of  the  stays'l,  so  long  as  we  got 
to  make  things  plain  to  you.  And  this ' — he 
gave  him  the  other  end — £  this  is  what  you  haul 
on.  Is  that  plain  enough?  Then  see  if  you  can 
hang  on  to  it,  so's  better  men  than  yourself  won't 
have  to  go  aloft  in  a  gale  to  get  them  down  again. 
Now  then,  up  with  that  stays'l.  Call  all  hands 
for'ard  there,  cook — and  call  all  hands  aft  there, 
Murdie — and  up  with  that  stays'l !  Up  with  it.' 

"  And  up  she  went.  Such  a  slattin*  afore  we 
got  her  up  !  But  she  got  there — and  then !  If 
she  was  leapin'  before  she  was  high-diving  now. 
The  water  was  firing  like  I  was  telling  you,  firing 
like  an  ocean  of  big  diamonds  and  white  sulphur 
mixed;  and  there  was  that  blue  smoke  you  could 
almost  smell  coming  out  from  both  sides  of  her 
wake.  I  misdoubted  if  we'd  ever  get  home.  If 
I'd  had  a  knife  handy,  you'd  have  seen  the  stays'l 
go  into  the  sky.  But  I  didn't  have  a  knife,  nor 
nobody  else  on  deck,  and  all  we  could  do  was 
to  hope  we'd  get  in  to  walk  down  Main  Street 

89 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

just  once  again,  and  swearin*  we'd  never  ship 
another  trip  with  that  crazy  Wesley  Marrs,  so 
long's  we  lived  again.  Yes,  sir,  that  was  an  awful 
run  home.  We  carried  our  stays'l  past  the 
Point.  And  that's  the  same  Lucy  and  the  same 
Wesley  Marrs  coming  in  the  dock  there  now." 

"  And  what  happened  to  the  Bounding  Billow  ? 
Did  you  pass  her  ?  " 

" The  Bounding  Billow?  Hell,  no.  We  got 
in  Monday  morning  at  five  o'clock.  There 
warn't  any  Bounding  Billow  in  sight  that  night — 
just  one  of  them  ghost  dreams  of  Wesley's.  The 
Englishman  didn't  get  along  till  about  the  middle 
of  the  week." 

"  And  what  did  he  have  to  say  ?  " 

"  The  Englishman  ?  Oh,  that  was  funny,  too 
— but  hold  up  a  second  and  see  what  that  tele 
phone  wants,  one  of  you." 

"  It's  the  office,  Petie.  They  want  to  know 
what  Captain  Marrs  got." 

"  Oh,  all  right.  He'll  make  fast  and  be  up 
the  wharf  in  a  minute,  tell  them.  He's  getting 
ready  to  step  ashore  now." 

It  was  a  man  of  medium  height  and  easy  swing 
who  came  up  the  dock  with  half  his  crew  in  tow. 
He  had  the  sunburned  skin  of  a  healthy  boy 
and  the  vigorous  jaw  of  a  man  of  action.  He 
spat  out  tobacco-juice  as  he  rolled  along,  but  his 

90 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

teeth  showed  white  and  unconquerable  when  he 
grinned  up  at  the  look-out.  It  was  the  voice  of 
a  moderate  blow,  a  summer  gale  at  play,  that  an 
swered  the  hail  from  Crow's  Nest. 

"  Hulloh,  Peter,"  it  roared.  "  Any  signs  of 
fish  up  there,  boy  ?  " 

"  Hulloh,  skipper.     What  you  got  ?  " 

"  Four  hundred  barrels." 

"  Good.     Where'd  you  get  'em  ? " 

"  Off  Monhegan  mostly.  One  school  off 
Middle  Bank  on  the  way  down.  All  medium 
schools.  How's  the  market  ?  " 

"  Fourteen  and  a  quarter  to-day." 

"  Good.  Report  me  to  the  office,  will  you  ? — 
four  hundred  barrels.  Come  along  down,  Peter, 
and  wash  the  gurry  out  your  throat.  Tell  'em 
all  up  there  to  come." 

"  In  a  minute.  Here,  Johnnie  " — Peter  lit  on 
a  boy  of  tender  years,  a  boy  of  an  age  that  or 
dinarily  would  not  have  been  allowed  to  breathe 
this  smoky  atmosphere,  but  in  this  case  a  boy 
who  was  sometimes  suffered  to  skirt  the  edge  of 
the  blessed  circle  because  of  his  tractable  ways 
and  certain  useful  connections.  He  was  a  pur 
veyor  of  supplies  and  a  nephew  of  the  firm,  a 
willing  boy  and  not  too  obtrusive.  "  Here, 
Johnnie,  telephone  the  office  that  the  Lucy  Fos 
ter  hails  for  four  hundred  barrels,  small  schools 

91 


From  Reykjavik  to  Gloucester 

and  fine  fish — and  take  charge  while  we're  gone. 
We'll  be  at  the  Anchorage — if  anything  heaves  in 
sight.  But  make  sure  before  you  disturb  us ; 
don't  get  worried  by  any  coasters  or  yachts, 
mind.  Do  a  good  job  now,  and  I'll  tell  your 
uncle  about  you,  and  maybe  some  day  he'll  let 
you  have  a  vessel  of  your  own.  Come  along, 
fellows,  and  p'r'aps  we  can  get  it  out  of  Wesley 
himself  just  what  the  Englishman  did  say  after  he 
got  in  and  found  the  Lucy  three  days  before  him. 
And  p'r'aps  we  c'n  get  a  word  out  him  'bout  his 
marriage — if  it  is  coming  off  this  fall." 

And  down  the  winding  stairs  the  chief  look-out 
and  his  staff  worked  their  way.  It  was  tack  and 
jibe,  until  they  reached  the  street  below ;  then  it 
was  wear  off  and  a  straight  run  of  it,  in  the  wake 
of  Wesley  to  the  Anchorage. 

Up  in  the  Crow's  Nest  the  flag  went  to  the 
mast-head  for  the  Lucy  Foster,  arrived  with  four 
hundred  barrels  of  fine  mackerel.  And  Johnnie, 
a  born  hero-worshipper,  looked  out  to  sea  for  in 
coming  fishermen,  bravely  singing  all  the  whiie : 

"I'll  bust  her  spars," 

Says  Wesley  Marrs, 

"  But  I'll  beat  the  Bounding  Billow." 


A  FISHERMAN  OF  COSTLA 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

i 


captain  of  the  coast  steamer  almost 
-*•  laughed  aloud  at  the  absurdity  of  the  ques 
tion.  "  Go  to  Kilronan,  in  the  outer  Arran  Isl 
and,  to-day  ?  No,  sir,  not  for  all  the  money  your 
clients  have  in  prospect.  Even  if  my  steamer 
had  not  two  loose  plates  forward,  and  her  con 
denser  all  out  of  gear,  as  my  engineer  says,  I 
would  not  head  her  out  in  the  bay  to-day  —  not 
for  all  the  money  of  one  of  your  American  mill- 
ionnaires.  No,  sir." 

"  But  consider  the  urgency,"  panted  the  stran 
ger.  "  Consider  -  " 

"  Consider  the  urgency  ?  Consider  the  steam 
er,"  retorted  the  captain.  "  Lord,  you'd  never 
need  to  say  you've  just  arrived  from  strange 
parts.  If  you'd  been  in  Galway  for  more  than 
ten  minutes,  you'd  have  known  that  this  howling 
westerly  gale  that's  sweeping  in  on  this  coast 
would  make  a  junk-pile  in  quick  order  of  any  old 
iron  steamer  of  the  tonnage  of  mine.  In  quick 
order,  yes,  sir  —  up  on  the  rocks  she'd  go  —  it's 

95 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

all  rocks  on  this  coast.     And  then  where  would 
my  captain's  papers  be  ?  " 

"  Name  your  price,"  persisted  the  stranger. 
He  dropped  his  suit-case,  put  his  hand  to  his  in 
side  coat-pocket,  and  drew  out  a  thick  wallet. 
"  Name  your  price.  I'll  charter  the  steamer  for 
a  week,  and  you  can  have  her  back  at  the  end  of 
twenty-four  hours,  and  it's  only  two  hours'  run 
to  Kilronan,  as  you  said  yourself.  Two  hours 
out  and  two  hours  back,  four  hours  steaming  be 
sides  the  waiting  while  I'm  looking  over  the  rec 
ords  with  your  parish  priest  and  parish  clerk — 
six  hours  all  told  and  my  business  will  be  done 
with.  What  do  you  say?  Name  your  price." 

"  No,  no,  I'm  sorry,  but  I  would  not  try  it 
even  if  my  steamer  was  ready,  for  the  value  of 
the  whole  estate  you  say  may  be  at  stake.  No, 
no,"  replied  the  steamer  captain. 

"  Then  what  am  I  to  do  ?  At  the  hotel  I 
stopped  just  long  enough  to  make  inquiries,  and 
they  sent  me  to  you.  They  told  me  that  if  you 
would  not  take  me  to  Arran,  nobody  out  of  Gal- 
way  would  take  me,  unless  it  were  a  Claddagh 
fisherman  across  the  harbor  in  one  of  their  little 
sailing-vessels.  And  then  they  added  that  if  I 
could  get  a  fisherman  ready  to  risk  it,  it  is  more 
than  likely  he  could  not  do  anything  against  this 
storm— it's  a  head  wind  to  Arran." 

96 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

"  They  told  you  right.  Lord  bless  you,  no 
hooker  could  ever  beat  out  this  gale.  Kilronan 
bears  about  west  from  here,  and  this  wind's 
straight  from  the  west-northwest.  If  the  wind 
was  blowing  from  offshore  now,  why  you  might 
speak  of  taking  a  hooker,  if  you  would  find  any 
body  crazy  enough  to  try  it.  Though  as  for 
that  part  of  it,  you'll  find  Irishmen  crazy  enough 
to  try  almost  anything — I  mean  if  you  can  show 
'em  a  half-decent  reason  for  it.  They  won't  do 
it  just  for  the  money,  remember — no,  sir,  not  for 
all  the  money  that  wallet  of  yours'll  hold — but  if 
you  could  work  up  their  feelings " 

"If  the  wind  were  blowing  from  off-shore  ? " 
repeated  the  stranger  absently.  "  But  is  there 
no  place  around  here  on  the  coast  from  which  the 
wind  blows  toward  Arran  ?  " 

"  Ha  !  Why,  that's  so,  too  !  There's  the 
north  shore — there's  Costla.  From  Costla  to 
Kilronan  the  wind  won't  be  behind  you,  mind, 
but  it  will  be  a  fair  wind — fair  enough  for  a  pas 
sage.  But,  my  soul,  think  of  the  risk." 

"Risk?— in  the  boat?" 

"In  the  boat  ? — yes — crossing  Gal  way  Bay  in 
this  gale." 

"  Would  your  fishermen  here  be  afraid  ?  They 
told  me  other  tales  of  them,  captain."  The 
stranger  smiled  in  an  exasperating  way. 

97 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

"  See  here,"  said  the  captain.  "  Don't  you 
run  away  with  any  notion  that  our  fishermen  here 
abouts  won't  fish  when  any  other  men  on  earth 
would  go  out  and  fish  in  small  boats.  But  let 
me  tell  you,  it's  one  thing  to  fish  because  the  wife 
and  children  at  home  need  the  help,  and  another 
thing — here,"  the  captain  broke  off  with  some 
heat,  "  look  here  now,  and  I'll  tell  you.  A  while 
ago  you  said  you'd  go  to  any  labor  and  any  risk 
to  reach  Kilronan  to-day,  and  be  back  here  to 
morrow  morning  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stranger,  "  any  labor  and  any 
risk  so  as  to  be  back  here  and  aboard  the  train 
that  will  connect  with  the  White  Star  steamer 
out  of  Queenstown  to-morrow  morning.  If  I 
don't  do  this  thing,  and  take  that  steamer  so  as 
to  be  back  in  time,  my  trip  over  here  is  of  no 
avail.  And  it  means  more  than  a  dead  loss  of  time 
and  money  to  the  firm.  I'm  a  young  lawyer  in  a 
big  office,  and  this  thing  means  a  lot  to  me.  You 
tell  me  what  to  do  and  I'll  do  it  at  any  risk." 

"  You  will  ?  Well,  you  go  to  Costla — that's 
on  the  coast  on  the  north  side  of  Galway  Bay,  as 
I  said.  It's  the  nearest  place  on  the  mainland  to 
Kilronan.  There's  a  fair  road  from  here  to  there  ; 
it's  on  the  mail-car  route  that  goes  out  of  the 
western  side  of  Galway.  You  go  to  Costla. 
First,  of  course,  you  go  to  the  Royal  Hotel  up 

98 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

the  street — that's  where  you  just  came  from — and 
tell  them  you  want  a  jaunting-car,  a  fast  horse, 
and  a  good  driver.  Get  Pat  Kelley  if  you  can, 
and  have  him  arrange  to  have  a  fresh  horse  for 
you  at  Spiddle.  There's  always  a  fresh  horse  to 
be  had  at  Spiddle,  and  that's  half  way  to  Costla. 
You  ought  to  be  at  Costla  Bay  in  two  hours  and 
a  half.  It's  twenty-five  miles.  When  you  get 
to  Costla,  ask  for  Gerald  Donohue.  Anybody 
will  tell  you  where  to  find  him,  though,  there  being 
two  Geralds,  you  want  to  ask  for  the  right  one. 
One  has  a  son  in  the  Coast  Guards.  You  don't 
want  him — he's  old  and  stays  ashore  now.  You 
want  the  other  Gerald  that's  a  fisherman  and  has 
no  son  in  the  Coast  Guards.  He  did  have  a  son 
that  would  be  old  enough  for  that  now,  but  he 
lost  him  the  time  the  last  big  wave  swept  over 
Glasher  Rock.  Anyway,  you  tell  Gerald  what 
you  told  me  when  you  first  hopped  off  that  car 
a  while  ago.  Tell  him  that  if  you  can't  get  those 
records  with  the  proper  certification  and  be  back 
aboard  to-morrow  morning's  New  York  steamer 
out  of  Queenstown,  your  clients — a  family  of 
children,  did  you  say  ? — well,  tell  him  they'll 
lose  a  fortune.  Tell  Gerald  that  and  put  it 
strong  to  him.  Tell  him  what  you  told  me,  that 
the  fortunes  of  those  children,  whose  father  was 
Kilronan  born,  may  be  hanging  on  your  getting 

99 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

to  Kilronan  and  back  by  to-night,  and  trust  Ger 
ald  to  put  you  across  the  bay  to  Arran  Island  if 
any  living  man  will  do  it.  And  if  he  gets  you 
across  to  Arran,  then  he'll  make  small  work  of 
bringing  you  on  to  Galway  afterward,  for  it  will 
be  a  fair  wind  from  Arran  back  to  Galway.  He'll 
only  have  to  keep  her  from  swamping  on  the  way 
back.  And  if  Gerald  won't  do  it,  you  can  give 
it  up — no  man  on  the  coast  will  do  it." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  I'm  off.  O  jar- 
vey — "  the  stranger  leaped  to  the  jaunting-car — 
"  to  the  Royal  Hotel !  Lash  her  now !  " 

The  captain  gazed  after  him.  "The  Lord  save 
us,  I  wonder  is  there  ever  one  of  them  American 
business  men  that's  got  time  to  take  a  full  breath." 


II 

It  was  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  that  the 
American  left  the  steamer-captain.  At  one  in  the 
afternoon  he  was  down  by  a  small  stone  quay 
at  an  inner  point  of  Costla  Bay  talking  to  a  fish 
erman  of  the  place,  Gerald  Donohue,  the  right 
Gerald  Donohue,  the  one  that  had  no  son  in  the 
Coast  Guards.  Stout,  bearded,  and  hardy-look 
ing  was  Gerald  of  the  blue  eyes  and  simple  speech. 

"  Sure  it's  the  moving  tale  you're  telling  me," 
he  was  saying.  "  But  do  you  think  what  it  means 

100 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

if  my  little  vessel  is  lost  ?  The  wife  and  the  small 
childer " 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  Mister  Donohue,  I  can  only 
say  that  the  heirs — the  people  we're  fighting  for — 
will  see  that  your  family  shall  not  want.  When 
they  hear  the  story,  as  hear  it  they  must,  for  I'll 
be  with  you  and  they'll  naturally  make  inquiries 
— if  we're  lost  then  you  can  count  on  it  that  your 
family  will  not  be  forgotten.  It  won't  be  a  hun 
dred  pounds,  or  two  hundred,  or  three  hundred 
that  they " 

Gerald  raised  his  hand.  "We'll  not  speak  of 
the  money.  The  man  that  would  cross  Galway 
Bay  to-day  for  money,  and  wife  and  childer  be 
hind  him,  would  be  staining  his  soul  with  the 
black  marks  of  a  sin  that  the  fires  o'  Purgatory 
would  never  burn  out — never.  But  for  Dannie 
Costello's  childer  that  has  to  fight  for  the  money 
he  left  behind  sure  'tis  a  hard  thing.  The  childer 
that  can't  get  their  own  father's  money — man,  but 
it  is  the  hard  nature  that  is  fighting  them.  I  knew 
Dannie  for  ten  years  before  he  left  Arran — the 
one  age  we  were.  And  him  the  manager  of  a 
boy  before  he  was  old  enough  to  walk.  And  a 
fine,  kind  boy  he  was.  And  only  the  year  before 
last  he  sent  fifty  pound  at  Christmas-time  for  the 
little  stone  church  they're  trying  to  build  in  Kil- 
ronan.  Yes,  sir,  the  big  heart  had  Dannie.  And 

101 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

now  he's  dead,  you  tell  me,  and  they're  schemin', 
the  villains,  to  keep  the  poor  childer  out  o'  the 
money.  Sure  an  awful  thing  is  law  now,  isn't  it  ? 
Here,  Tammie  " — he  turned  to  a  twelve-year-old 
lad  who  was  standing  near  and  watching  the  surf 
break  over  the  rocks  below  him.  "  Tammie,  run 
up  to  the  house  like  a  good  boy  and  get  the  two 
suits  of  oil-clothes — make  haste  now — while  I 
will  be  reefing  down  the  mainsail  and  taking  in  a 
bit  of  the  jib.  Make  haste,  Tammie,  for  it's 
makin*  the  wind  is  all  the  time.  Yes,  sir,  it  must 
be  makin'  when  it  isn't  going  down.  And  it's 
big  boots  and  plenty  of  oil-clothes  we'll  need  this 
day.  And  do  yourself  get  into  the  hooker,  sir, 
yourself  and  your  valise,  while  I  do  be  reefin' 
down." 

The  "hooker"  was  a  black-painted,  or  rather 
black-tarred,  jib-and-mainsail  boat  of  perhaps 
twenty-five  feet  on  deck  and  eight  feet  beam. 
Forward  she  was  decked  over,  but  aft  was 
merely  an  open  space,  wherein  was  a  lot  of  broken 
rock  in  her  bottom  for  ballast.  Having  been 
used  at  odd  times  for  carrying  peat  to  the  islands 
in  the  bay,  a  great  deal  of  loose  loam  had  man 
aged  to  sift  down  into  the  crevices  of  the  stone, 
thereby  giving  more  than  usual  stability  to  the 
ballast. 

The  lawyer  stood  on  the  ballast  and  watched 

102 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

the  fierce  surf  as  it  broke  over  the  rocks  that 
edged  the  little  bay.  He  could  not  quite  see  the 
full  glory  of  the  surf  of  the  greater  bay  outside, 
the  bay  they  were  soon  to  attempt  to  cross,  but 
he  saw  enough  to  get  a  faint  idea  of  what  it  might 
be  like,  and  as  he  pondered  over  the  prospect  he 
began  to  experience  his  first  slight  sinking  of  the 
heart  since  he  left  Galway,  and  almost  to  wish 
that  to  somebody  else  had  fallen  what  now  prom 
ised  to  be  a  hazardous  undertaking. 

While  the  lawyer  was  soberly  meditating,  the 
fisherman  was  rushing  preparations.  Three  reefs 
were  put  in  the  black  mainsail,  and  the  jib  was 
taken  in  until  not  more  than  half  its  original  size 
was  spread.  The  hatch  to  the  little  hole  forward 
was  battened  down  and  running  gear  overhauled. 
Gerald  did  not  like  the  look  of  the  jib.  "  It's 
old,  and  a  touch  of  rot  in  it.  If  there  was  time, 
there's  a  bit  of  a  storm-sail  below  I  would  put  on 
her  by  way  of  a  jib  instead  of  that  old  rag,  but 
there's  not  the  time — here  comes  Tammie,  with 
his  load  of  boots  and  oil-clothes. 

"  Throw  it  aboard,  Tammie. 

"Ah,  poor  b'y,  ye  had  a  great  load  of  it,  sure 
enough.  Here,  sir — "  he  turned  to  his  passen 
ger —  "  take  off  your  shoes  and  get  into  a  pair  of 
these  boots,  and  put  the  oil-clothes  over  your 
other  clothes.  Be  sure  but  you  will  need  them." 

103 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

They  were  soon  ready.  "  Push  off,  Tammie," 
said  the  fisherman  to  his  boy.  "  Pole  her  off  to 
the  end  of  the  quay,  and  then  go  back  and  tell 
your  mother  I  won't  be  back  for  three  days 
maybe,  for  I'll  have  to  go  to  Galway  to  put  the 
gentleman  on  his  way.  Go  back  now." 

"  Can't  I  go  with  you,  father  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Go  with  me !  The  Lord  forbid — sure  the 
hair  would  rise  off  your  head  with  the  fright  when 
you'd  see  the  waves  out  in  the  big  bay." 

"  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  with  you,  father." 

"  Whisht !  and  go  along  with  you.  'Tis  your 
mother  wouldn't  sleep  till  you  was  back  again. 
Go  home  now,  and  tell  her  as  I  just  told  you  to 
tell  her " 

"  She  knows  where  you're  going.  When  I 
asked  for  the  big  boots  and  oil-clothes,  she  asked 
me  what  you  wanted  them  for,  and  I  told  her." 

"  You  did  ?     And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  said,  '  'Tis  the  foolish  man  your  father 
is,  Tammie,  but  God  speed  him.'  Can't  I  stay 
on  the  high  rocks  and  watch  you  sail  across, 
father  ?  "  pleaded  the  boy. 

"  No,  b'y,  no.     It's  too  windy  and  cold  there." 

"  But  I  want  to  see  you  sail  the  hooker  across 
the  bay,  father.  It's  fast  she'll  sail  in  this  wind, 
and  I  want  to  see  her  go." 

"  Then  go  up  to  the  Coast-Guard  station  and 
104 


"  Pole  her  off  to  the  end  of  the  quay.1 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

watch  from  there  with  your  cousin  Malachi. 
'Tis  there  you  will  be  able  to  see  beautiful  from 
the  look-out  up  top.  Go  now,  Tammie,  and  say 
God-speed  for  us." 

Under  the  fisherman's  hands  the  little  hooker 
was  skilfully  worked  from  out  of  this  rock-strewn 
inlet  of  water  known  as  Costla  Bay  into  the  much 
larger  body  of  water  known  as  Galway  Bay.  The 
American  had  only  to  dodge  the  spray  as  it  came 
aboard,  and  Gerald  to  dodge  with  the  hooker  the 
rocks  that  stuck  their  sharp  points  above  the  sur 
face. 

"Look  across  now,"  said  Gerald — they  were 
clear  of  the  sunken  rocks  inside — "  that's  Arran 
you  see  ahead.  Eleven  mile  from  here — just 
beyond  where  you  see  the  water  all  white.  That's 
the  surf  breaking  there — if  you  can  see  it." 

"  I  think  I  can  see  it,  but  I'm  not  sure." 
From  the  stern  of  the  jumping  hooker  the  law 
yer  was  trying  to  see  things  ahead  and  at  the 
same  time  keep  his  feet. 

"  Not  sure,  ye  say  ?  Faith,  but  it's  the  weak 
eyes  a  man  gets  when  he  stops  long  ashore. 
That's  Kilronan,  and  the  long  stone  wall  there  is 
the  pier.  That's  where  we  are  going,  if  God  is 
willing — to  the  other  side  of  that  pier.  Now 
keep  under  the  rail  and  out  of  the  wet,  if  you  can, 
for  we're  fair  into  it  now." 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

What  the  American  knew  of  the  practical 
workings  of  the  sea  had  been  gained  altogether 
from  his  recent  trip  between  New  York  and 
Queenstown.  For  one  twenty-four  hours  during 
that  six  days'  passage  there  had  been  enacted 
what  the  saloon  referred  to  as  "an  awful  storm." 
Some  spray  had  come  aboard  the  main  deck  of 
the  liner,  and  most  of  the  passengers  lay  in  their 
berths  while  the  awful  storm  should  go  by.  Our 
young  lawyer  had  been  among  the  brave  ones 
who  had  stuck  it  out  in  the  smoking-room. 
He  remembered  very  well  how  he  had  been 
thinking  of  the  future  time  when  he  should  be 
reeling  off  the  details  of  that  storm  to  home  cir 
cles.  But  that  steamer  was  600  feet  in  length, 
with  a  wall  of  sixty  feet  from  the  water's  surface 
to  the  top-rail,  and,  to  preserve  the  proportions, 
this  little  hooker  was  about  the  size  of  one  of  the 
liner's  deck-boats,  with  less  than  two  feet  of  free 
board — that  is,  when  she  stood  on  an  even  keel. 
To  preserve  the  proportions,  this  little  vessel 
should  be  now  sailing  in  a  mill-pond  in  a  sum 
mer  zephyr.  Even  that  something  less  than  two 
feet  of  freeboard  would  have  been  a  most  com 
forting  thing  were  it  there  now,  which  it  was  not, 
for  the  hooker  by  now,  working  clear  of  the  main 
shore,  and  the  wind  coming  abeam,  was  taking  a 
great  slant.  At  first  she  only  rolled  over  to  her 

1 06 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

deck  amidships,  and  the  water  did  not  bother  them 
over-much.  Spray  had  come  across  her  bows 
from  the  very  first,  but,  as  they  went  on,  sheets 
of  spray  began  to  come  over  bows,  midship,  and 
quarter,  and  slap  them  from  head  to  toe  even 
when  they  crouched  back  in  the  stern.  Still,  even 
the  lawyer  did  not  mind  that.  He  had  some 
philosophy  in  his  make-up,  and,  having  been 
warned  by  that  surf  over  the  rocks  of  Costla  Bay, 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  some  discomfort. 
But  it  was  not  until  the  hooker  had  worked  out 
from  the  lee  of  the  land  for  a  mile  or  so,  and  the 
real  force  of  the  wind  from  all  the  wide  Atlantic 
began  to  hit  her,  that  the  young  man  from  the 
inland  region  of  a  great  continent  began  to  see 
more  clearly  than  ever  that  he  had  embarked  on 
an  enterprise  of  some  risk.  He  derived  his  great 
est  pleasure,  after  they  were  well  into  it,  from 
discovering  the  rail  when  it  showed  above  the  sea, 
as  it  did  every  now  and  then  when  the  fisherman 
held  her  up  a  trifle. 

The  fisherman  seemed  to  read  the  young 
man's  thoughts.  "I  could  make  it  a  bit  more 
pleasant,"  he  explained,  "  but  we  would  never 
make  Kilronan  if  I  did.  If  we  went  to  looard 
we'd  never  in  this  world  work  her  back  in  the 
wind." 

"I  see,"  said  the  lawyer,  "but  doesn't  she  lay 
107 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

rather  away  over  sometimes?  Isn't  there  dan- 
ger?" 

"  Danger  ? — not  a  bit.  Not  yet,  anyway. 
Don't  you  worry  now.  So  she  shows  the  rail 
anywhere  near  the  level  water  you're  safe  as  if 
you  was  in  the  Coast-Guard  station  we  left  behind 
us.  'Tis  when  she  puts  that  plank  above  her 
rail  under — that  plank  that's  used  to  hold  the 
turf  in  her  whenever  we  have  a  big  load  of  it — 
now  when  that  goes  under  water  will  be  the  time 
to  say  a  quick  litany,  especially  if  the  ballast 
shifts." 

"  That  plank  under !  Good  Lord  !  wouldn't 
she  turn  bottom  up  then  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  say.  I  never  tried  her,  but  it  is 
likely,  sir." 

"  And  if  she  tips  over,  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Troth,  and  I  couldn't  say  as  to  that,  either ; 
but  swim,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"  Swim !  I'd  have  but  a  small  chance,  then, 
when  I  can  barely  swim  a  hundred  yards  in  the 
smoothest  water." 

"  Faith,  then  we'd  last  the  one  as  long  as  the 
other,  for  sorra  the  stroke  at  all  can  I  swim.  But 
that's  neither  here  nor  there,  for  it's  the  small 
chance  we'd  have  if  she  capsized  here.  Look  at 
her  now,  sir." 

The  hooker  was  then  lifting  so  that  the  lawyer, 
108 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

gazing  at  her  forward  deck,  could  easily  imagine 
himself  looking  uphill ;  and  when  she  pitched 
down  and  her  bows  went  clear  under  until  she 
was  all  water  to  her  mast,  he  thought  she  was 
about  to  engulf  herself.  That  was  happening 
almost  continuously,  but  she  did  have  steady 
streaks.  When  the  wind  was  steady,  she  simply 
lay  down  while  the  sea  rushed  over  her  side  and 
swirled  over  the  feet  of  the  two  men  in  the  stern. 

"  The  Lord  save  us,  but  she's  making  great 
time,  isn't  she,  sir?  Great  speed,  but  maybe 
'twouldn't  do  her  no  harm  if  you  was  to  keep  the 
bailer  going.  That's  the  bailer,  that  tin  pail  there 
by  your  valise.  Man,  but  that  valise  is  catching 
it — and  a  finer  valise  I  never  set  eyes  on.  I  know 
it's  a  shame,  too,  to  make  a  regular-paid  passen 
ger  work  his  way,  but  with  yourself  bailing  you'll 
have  a  better  chance  to  make  that  same  passage 
you'll  be  paying  for  later,  if  you  make  it.  'Tis 
the  great  sport  sailing  when  you're  sure  you'll  get 
home  all  right,  isn't  it,  sir  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  lawyer,  "  it  must  be." 
His  voice  had  not  the  viking  ring,  but  his  bailing 
was  all  that  could  be  desired. 

The  hooker  footed  on,  with  the  seas  tossing 
her  about  as  a  wooden  bucket  is  tumbled  in  a 
beach  surf.  She  went  down  into  the  hollows  until 
the  lawyer  thought  she  was  never  coming  up,  and 

109 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

she  went  up  on  the  heights  until  he  thought  she 
would  stay  up  altogether.  The  seas  were  green 
and  each  had  a  crest  of  white  that  reminded  the 
andsman  of  the  long  teeth  of  an  angry  dog. 
The  body  of  the  sea  would  rush  on,  and  by 
its  sheer  weight  throw  the  hooker  far  and  high, 
then  the  white  teeth  would  leap  up  and  pounce 
down  and  make  as  if  trying  to  tear  her  planks 
apart. 

The  lawyer,  to  gather  inspiration,  would  look 
up  now  and  then  from  his  bailing  to  study  the 
face  of  the  fisherman.  Once  he  fancied  he  saw 
a  fleeting  shade  of  worriment  in  the  blue  eyes. 
With  some  trepidation  he  asked  if  there  were 
anything  wrong.  If  this  man  of  the  sea  was  dis 
turbed,  certainly  it  was  time  for  himself,  a  lands 
man,  to  watch  out. 

"  That  jib  there,"  answered  the  fisherman  after 
a  long  gaze  forward;  "I've  been  thinkin'  it  won't 
hold  much  longer.  Beginnin'  to  rip  it  is  at  the 
foot  of  it.  Stand  up  now  and  hold  the  tiller  when 
I  put  her  in  the  wind.  Wait,  wait  until  I  put 
her  into  the  wind.  Have  a  care  now,  and  let  me 
show  you.  By  the  Lord,  but  that  was  a  blast ! 
Och,  it's  gone !  May  the  divil  go  with  it ! " 
The  jib  had  ripped  from  the  foot  up,  and  was 
slatting  off  in  strips  to  leeward,  like  half  a  dozen 
long-tailed  burgees. 

no 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

"  Hold  her  as  she  is,"  said  the  fisherman. 
"  She'll  stay  there  now  while  I  dive  into  the  hold 
for'ard  for  a  bit  of  storm-sail  that  we'll  make  a 
jib  of.  I  always  mistrusted  that  old  jib." 

The  hooker  rode  the  waves  so  much  more 
easily  with  her  head  to  the  wind  that  the  lawyer, 
though  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  how  it 
was  all  brought  about,  wondered  why  they  had  not 
done  something  like  this  before.  Certainly  this 
was  better  than  to  let  her  heel  over  until  she 
threatened  to  roll  bottom  up. 

Forward  the  fisherman  had  got  out  a  small 
triangle  of  canvas,  and  was  swiftly  making  ready 
to  attach  it  to  the  old  jib  sheet  and  halyards. 
To  expedite  matters  he  was  forced  to  lie  out  on 
the  little  bowsprit  and  allow  himself  to  be  buried 
with  that  plunging  stick  every  time  a  sea  came  his 
way.  He  quickly  made  a  pair  of  rough  hanks  of 
a  piece  of  old  line,  cut  away  such  pieces  of  the  old 
jib  as  threatened  to  hamper  operations,  came  back 
inboard  and  hoisted  away  on  his  halyards. 

"  There,"  said  he,  jumping  aft,  beard,  hair,  and 
the  oil-skins  running  brine,  "  there.  Now  we'll 
go  our  way  again." 

The  hooker  lay  over  again,  and  the  lawyer 
resumed  his  bailing,  stopping  only  long  enough 
to  ask  Gerald  why  he  could  not  have  kept  her  as 
she  was  when  he  was  putting  the  new  sail  in  place. 

in 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

"  She  was  so  steady  then,"  he  said,  "  so  steady — 
that  is,  compared  to  what  she  is  now." 

"  Steady,  yes,"  said  Gerald,  grimly.  "  A  pity 
she  wouldn't  be  half-way  steady,  and  she  hove-to. 
But  let  her  lay  so  long  enough  and  think  you 
where  would  she  be,  or  where  would  you  be  or 
me  be  ?  Look  over  the  rail  at  your  elbow  now. 
See  where  the  sea  breaks  over  that  ledge.  Twen 
ty  feet  high  it  spouts,  and  that  ledge  runs  far  out 
from  the  shore  into  the  bay.  That's  where  she'd 
drift,  and  we'd  be  fools  enough  to  let  her.  How 
long  would  you  live,  I'm  asking  you,  sir,  in  that 
b'iling — if  you  was  lucky  enough  not  to  break 
your  bones  in  the  first  smash?" 

"Oh,"  said  the  lawyer,  "I  didn't  know." 
After  a  pause  he  continued :  "  No,  I  didn't 
know.  If  I  knew  what  it  was  going  to  be 
I  would  never  have  dragged  you  out  here,  nor 
come  out  here  myself — no,  not  for  all  the  reputa 
tion  I  ever  expect  to  make.  I  didn't  know." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  fisherman,  "  and 
Dannie's  childer  dependin'  on  ye  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  forget  them.  Yes,  I  would  come — 
but  what's  that  awful  place  ahead  ?  " 

"  That's  where  the  shoal  makes  out  from 
Arran.  That's  the  bad  spot  for  us.  'Tis  that 
we'll  have  to  weather  if  ever  we  make  Kilronan. 
Man,  but  it's  cruel  to  look  at,  isn't  it  now  ? 

112 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

There's  where  we'll  have  to  let  her  take  the  wind 
in  full.  All  this  time,  d'  y'  see,  we've  been  close- 
hauled,  but  we'll  have  to  swing  her  off  now  if 
we'd  pass  here.  Watch  out  now  and  get  a  hold 
of  something  if  you  love  life." 

He  put  the  tiller  up  into  the  wind,  and  around 
came  her  head.  The  wind  took  her  fairly,  and 
over  she  went.  The  lawyer  thought  she  was 
going  altogether,  and  the  fisherman  said  "  Holy 
Mary !  "  Her  solid  rail  went  far  under,  and  the 
turf-board  above  that  went  clear  under  also,  and 
the  water  that  rushed  into  the  open  part  of  her 
aft  seemed  about  to  swamp  her. 

"  She's  going  !  "  called  the  lawyer — "  My  God, 
she's  going!"  He  grabbed  the  tiller  in  his  excite 
ment. 

"  Let  be  the  tiller — I'm  steering !  Take  a 
grip  of  my  waist,  or  anything,  but  let  be  the 
tiller  !  " 

"  I'm  up  to  my  knees,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  To  your  knees,  is  it !  Man,  but  you'll  be  up 
to  your  waist,  maybe,  before  she  stops,  and  then 
over  your  head,  maybe.  Hold  on  now — hold  on 
yet.  Holy  Mary,  but  she's  getting  it.  But,  by 
the  Lord,  she'll  make  it  yet.  She's  coming,  by  my 
soul,  she's  coming.  'Twas  a  blow  that,  but  she'll 
right  yet.  Give  her  a  chance,  give  her  a  chance 
now." 

"3 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

For  a  full  two  minutes  she  lay  there,  within 
an  ace  of  being  hove-down  before  she  showed 
signs  of  coming  up.  Then  slowly  she  began  to 
right,  with  the  fisherman  nursing  her.  Slowly, 
slowly  she  came  up.  She  was  safe  at  last.  For 
a  while  she  was  logy  as  any  old  derelict  with  the 
loose  water  that  sloshed  about  in  the  open  space 
aft,  but  she  had  righted  and  that  was  the  really 
important  thing. 

"  A  bad  little  place  that,  sir,"  observed  Gerald 
when  he  had  got  her  straightened  away  again. 
"  A  point  makes  out  from  the  shoals  there,  d'  y' 
see  ?  We  had  to  shoot  around  it  like,  y*  see,  and 
that  made  all  the  trouble.  'Twas  that  more  than 
all  the  rest  of  the  passage,  though  the  Lord 
knows  'tis  rough  enough  it  is — but  'twas  that's 
been  on  my  mind  the  last  half  hour.  You 
didn't  know  that?  Why  would  you? — but  the 
Lord  be  thanked  we're  by  it  now.  There's  been 
more  than  one  vessel  capsized  and  more  than  one 
crew  lost  there,  though  'twasn't  all  of  them  had 
ballast  that  stood  like  ours.  Man,  but  the  turf 
between  the  stones  under  our  feet — 'tis  as  good 
as  the  pig  iron  and  the  melted  lead  they  puts  in 
the  bottom  of  the  yachts.  Yes,  sir,  every  bit  as 
good.  When  it  holds,  I  mean.  Sometimes  it 
don't  hold.  And  maybe  it  was  the  hand  o* 
God — that  jib  blowing  out  back  there.  If  it 

114 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

didn't  go  then,  'twould  go  that  last  time  and  that 
was  a  bad  place  to  be  stopping  to  bend  on  a  new 
sail — don't  you  think  but  it  was,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  lawyer.  Still  bewildered,  he 
stood  looking  back  at  the  boiling  point  they  had 
passed.  "  Awful,  awful,  wasn't  it  ? "  he  ex 
claimed. 

"  Yes,  sir — awful,  you  might  say,  but  don't 
stop  bailing  now  because  we're  past  it.  She'll  be 
a  bit  livelier,  d'  y'  see,  with  some  of  the  water  out 
of  her.  That's  why  I  have  the  stern  of  her  with 
a  few  planks  out — so  the  water  that  comes  over 
the  rail  will  go  back  in  the  sea  again."  He 
grinned  slyly.  "  She  gets  clear  of  a  lot  of  water 
that  way.  But  keep  bailing — you're  doin'  fine  at 
the  bailing,  sir." 

The  lawyer  continued  to  bail,  and  Gerald  held 
to  the  tiller  until  the  happy  moment  when  they 
shot  around  the  end  of  the  pier.  "There," 
said  Gerald,  "  we're  in  at  last,  and  here's  Kil- 
ronan."  He  pointed  the  hooker  up  for  the  pier, 
cast  loose  the  halyards,  let  the  sails  run,  and 
dropped  her  gently  alongside  the  pier  steps. 

"  And  are  we  here  ? "  asked  the  lawyer,  as  if  he 
could  hardly  believe  it. 

"  Here  you  are — yes,  sir — Kilronan.  Go  up 
those  steps  ahead,  and  from  the  top  of  the  pier 
you  can  see  the  parish  priest's  place.  The  parish 

"5 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

priest  and  the  parish  dark  will  have  all  the  rec 
ords  you'll  be  wanting,  I  think.  And  there's  a 
notary  or  something  like  that  who  will  do  the 
swearing  the  dark  can't  do.  And  while  you're 
gone  I'll  be  eating  some  bread  and  fish  and  mak 
ing  a  cup  of  tea,  for  I've  had  no  dinner  this  day 
and  I'm  fair  famished.  When  you  get  back,  sir, 
we'll  put  for  Galway.  Make  haste,  sir,  and  if 
the  Lord  is  good,  you'll  be  in  time  for  your 
Queenstown  steamer  in  the  morning." 

In  two  hours  the  young  lawyer  came  back, 
radiant.  "  It's  all  right,  it's  all  right,"  he  sang 
out  to  Gerald. 

"  Is  it  ?  Well  that's  fine.  And  now  we'll  off 
to  Galway.  Come  aboard,  sir." 

"  Will  it  be  bad  going  to  Galway  ?  Any  more 
of  those  bad  shoal  points  to  be  passed  ? " 

"  Not  a  bit.  'Tis  only  running  we'll  be  going 
to  Galway  in  this  wind.  We  have  but  to  hold 
her  up  past  the  light-house  till  we're  well  into 
Gregory  Sound,  and  we're  all  right.  She'll  make 
great  dives  with  her  head,  but  it's  hard  to  capsize 
her  that  way — head  first.  'Twill  be  rough,  maybe, 
till  we're  past  the  Sound,  but  after  that  we'll  put 
for  the  lee  of  the  islands,  and  with  a  fair  wind 
and  smooth  water  and  Dan  Costello's  childer  in 
mind  and  we'll  have  you  in  Galway  to-night, 
with  the  help  of  God." 

116 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

That  night  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  in  Galway, 
and  while  he  was  waiting  for  the  porters  to  put 
his  few  pieces  of  baggage  in  the  jaunting-car,  the 
American  drew  out  his  thick  wallet  to  settle  up 
with  the  fisherman.  He  laid  five  £10  Bank  of 
England  notes  on  the  table.  "There,  Captain 
Donohue,"  said  he,  "  there's  your  ^50  as  prom 
ised,  and  your  work  was  worth  it  ten  times 
over." 

Donohue  regarded  him  with  wonder.  "  Fifty 
pounds  ?  No,  no — "  he  pushed  the  money  back 
across  the  table — "no,  no;  I'm  not  taking 
^50  out  of  you,  sir.  Let  me  have  two  pounds, 
a  pound  for  to-day,  and  a  pound  for  another  day 
I'll  be  waiting  here  while  the  gale  blows  by." 

"Two  pounds?  Don't  be  foolish  now,  Cap 
tain.  I  said  this  morning  that  I'd  give  you 
^£50  to  take  me  across  Galway  Bay.  And 
here  are  the  fifty  pounds  that  I  said  I'd  give 
you." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  said  you'd  give  me  it,  but  I 
never  said  I'd  take  it.  Put  up  your  money.  It 
isn't  for  the  money  I'd  be  risking  making  a  widder 
of  Mora  and  orphans  of  the  childer.  No,  sir; 
two  pounds  is  my  price  this  day — one  day  to-day, 
and  another  day  to-morrow  when  I  won't  be  able 
to  get  back  to  Costla,  by  the  look  of  things  now. 
No,  no,  sir;  I'm  telling  you  now  'tis  never  for 

117 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

money  I'd  do  it.  Forty  years  ago,  when  I  was  a 
little  lad,  I  knew  Dannie  Costello.  'Twas  Dan 
put  me  many's  the  time  in  the  way  of  makin'  a 
shillin'  with  him  now  and  again.  Dan  Costello 
was  good  to  me.  And  'twas  a  long  ways  a  shillin' 
went  in  them  days — starvation  days  we  had  then. 
Yes,  'tis  true,  we  haven't  too  many  comforts  now, 
but  we  manage  to  get  along.  When  you  see  the 
childer  again,  sir — and  if  they  are  anything  like 
their  father,  sir,  sure  they'll  be  the  fine  childer — 
when  you  see  them,  give  my  respects  to  them, 
sir.  A  friend  of  their  father's,  tell  them.  Tell 
them  that,  if  you  will,  and  I'll  thank  you.  Two 
pounds — no  more,  no  more.  What  ?  The  sail  ? 
Well,  put  in  a  pound  for  the  old  sail.  Troth,  and 
it  was  an  old  sail,  and  I'll  be  cheating  you  at  that. 
Three  pounds  I'll  take.  No  more.  I  couldn't. 
Thank  you,  sir,  and  hurry  now  if  you  would 
catch  the  cars  for  Queenstown.  Good-by,  sir, 
good-by,  and  remember  me  kindly  to  Dan 
Costello's  childer." 


118 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 
III 

When  the  roar  of  the  hurrying  train  had  be 
come  no  more  than  one  of  a  thousand  other  far 
away  echoes  in  the  night,  the  fisherman  returned 
through  the  narrow  streets  of  the  old  city  to  the 
big  dock,  to  the  end  of  which  was  tied  his  little 
hooker.  He  sloshed  around  with  the  tin  pail 
and  bailed  out  such  water  as  he  could  find  by 
feeling  in  the  dark.  He  shook  the  reefs  out  of 
the  mainsail,  hoisted  it  clear  to  the  blocks,  that  it 
might  have  a  chance  to  dry,  and  then  looked  up 
at  the  shadow  of  it  as  it  hung.  "  There,  that's 
off  my  mind,  and  now  for  a  little  bit  of  comfort." 
He  felt  his  way  forward  and  dropped  through  the 
hatchway  into  the  little  hole  of  a  cabin. 

Here  he  groped  about  in  the  extreme  darkness 
until  his  fingers  rubbed  against  a  piece  of  a  can 
dle  and  a  card  of  matches  that  protruded  from 
somewhere  up  between  the  deck-planking  and  a 
transverse  beam.  The  matches  he  struck  one 
after  the  other  until  he  got  one  that  would  stay 
alight  long  enough  to  get  the  candle  going.  He 
raked  over  the  ashes  on  the  little  stone  slab  that 
served  him  for  a  hearth,  but  found  them  all 
damp.  "  Man,"  he  murmured,  "  but  the  water 
surely  came  through  her  old  j'ints  this  day."  He 
went  to  a  locker,  took  out  a  small  piece  of  very 

119 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

soft  wood,  from  which,  after  whittling  into  shav 
ings,  he  managed  to  get  a  tiny  blaze.  "  The 
very  air  has  salt  water  in  it,"  he  whispered  to 
himself.  After  another  while  he  felt  hopeful  of 
getting  a  kettle  of  water  to  boil.  "  'Twas  good 
the  locker's  half-way  dry  with  the  wood  in  it. 
We'll  have  tea  yet,  by  the  Lord."  The  thought 
gave  him  intense  satisfaction.  "  A  pot  of  fine 
hot  tea,  yes,  and  something  to  eat  with  it.  And 
I'm  fair  famished."  From  the  bottom  of  a  tin 
box  he  took  out  a  sliver  of  salt  fish  and  a  scone 
of  bread.  "  Faith,  but  that's  fine  luck — just 
enough  for  a  bite  for  myself.  Not  a  great  deal 
of  it — a  child  could  eat  it,  and  Father  Doherty 
himself  wouldn't  say  it  was  too  much  for  a  fast- 
day,  but  'twill  go  fine  after  the  wet,  hard  day — 
fine,  fine."  He  shook  out  the  last  pinch  of  tea 
from  the  caddy  into  the  kettle. 

The  water  was  slow  to  boil,  and  the  smoke  of 
the  fire  drove  him  to  the  hatchway  for  fresh  air. 
"  I'll  have  to  get  a  little  chimbly  for  this  place 
another  year — the  smoke  of  it  sometimes  is  fair 
overpowerin'."  He  gazed  out  of  the  hatch  and 
across  the  dark  waters.  "  A  wee  little  bit  more 
and  I  could  see  Costla  Bay  with  the  lights  in  the 
Coast-Guard  station — yes.  Mora,  'tis  little  is 
the  sleep  you'll  be  giving  yourself  this  night  nor 
another  night  till  I'm  home  again.  Sure  the 

120 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

childer  themselves,  the  wee  little  ones,  will  be 
asking  for  their  father  when  they  hear  the  wind 
scream  over  the  rocks  of  Costla.  And  off  in 
America  now — what  place  was  it  that  young  man 
said  ? — some  saint  city  away,  oh,  far  away,  from 
the  coast.  But  never  mind.  '  If  ever  you  come 
t'  America,  Captain  Donohue — '  says  he.  c  I'm 
no  captain,'  says  I.  'I'm  master  with  one  grown 
lad  for  a  crew,  of  a  little  black  hooker — a  fisher 
man  of  Costla  am  I,'  says  I.  '  Well,  captain  or 
no  captain,'  says  he,  *  there's  commanders  in  the 
R'yal  Navy,'  says  he,  c  and  in  every  other  navy,' 
says  he,  c  that  wouldn't  crossed  Galway  Bay  to 
day  for  all  their  hopes  of  promotion.  And  if 
ever  you  come  to  St.  Louis ' — that's  it,  St. 
Louis,  by  my  soul — *  if  ever  you  come  to  St. 
Louis,  be  sure  to  come  to  me,  and 'tis  myself  and 
Dan  Costello's  children  will  have  the  warm  wel 
come  for  you — yes,'  he  said  that.  Oh,  oh,  the 
poor  childer  that's  the  thousands  of  miles  livin* 
from  where  their  father  was  born.  And  havin' 
the  law  to  fight  with  it !  Wirra,  wirra,  but  the 
Lord  needs  to  be  good  to  childer  that's  got  the 
law  to  fight.  Yes,  indeed,  yes." 

He  took  another  long  look  toward  Costla  ere 
he  dropped  below.  He  noted  the  progress  of 
the  boiling  kettle  of  tea.  "  In  a  minute  'twill  be 
done.  A  bite  to  eat,  a  sup  to  drink,  and  my 

121 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

pipe,  and  then  to  a  good  sleep.  My  pipe,  where 
is  it  ?  Yes,  yes,  to  be  sure,  where  I  left  it  on  the 
shelf  in  the  bunk."  He  reached  across  the  bunlc 
and  began  to  feel  about  for  the  pipe.  The 
weight  of  his  arm  on  the  blankets  caused  him  to 
disturb  a  small  body  that  was  huddled  deep 
among  the  bed-clothes.  The  body,  squirming, 
startled  the  fisherman.  "  My  soul !  what's  that !  " 

The  bundle  rolled  over  and  spoke.  "  It's  me, 
father." 

"  Tammie,  Tammie,  you  scart  me  most  to 
death.  How  on  earth  came  you  here,  Tam 
mie?" 

"  I  asked  mother  could  I  come,  and  she  said 
yes,  and  the  driver  of  the  mail-cart  took  me  up. 
I  wanted  to  be  sure  you  got  to  Galway.  You 
know  you  said  maybe  the  gale  would  last  so  you 
mightn't  be  home  for  three  days,  and  I  wanted  to 
go  back  and  tell  mother  in  the  morning." 

"  Back  to  Costla  in  the  morning  ?  And  if  the 
mail-car  is  full  and  no  room  for  the  likes  of 
you  ? " 

"  Then  I  can  walk,  father." 

"  The  Lord  save  us,  but  it's  little  boys  that 
makes  us  ashamed,  with  the  faith  they  has,"  said 
Gerald.  "  Here,  come  out  of  that  bunk  that's 
as  wet  as  the  wide  bay,  till  I  put  in  it  some  of 
my  old  clothes  from  the  locker — the  locker,  the 

122 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

only  dry  place  in  the  hooker,  and  it  isn't  over- 
dry  at  that.  They'll  be  poor  bed-clothes,  but 
they'll  be  half-way  dry  for  you,  alanna.  And 
how  did  you  come  aboard  anonst  to  me  ? " 

"  I  was  waiting  for  you  since  the  mail-cart  got 
in  at  eight  o'clock.  I  saw  you  when  you  came  in 
the  dock,  and  then  I  saw  you  and  the  American 
gentleman  go  to  the  hotel.  I  knew  you  would 
be  back  here  when  I  saw  you  go  to  the  station 
with  him,  so  I  came  down  here  and  I  was  waiting 
for  you  here,  but  I  fell  asleep  while  I  was  wait 
ing,  father." 

"  Oh,  the  poor  b'y.  And  you're  hungry,  I'll 
be  bound,  Tammie  ?  " 

"  A  little,  father." 

" '  A  little,  father '  ?  Come  here  by  the  fire. 
You're  fair  famished.  Don't  try  and  hide  it 
from  me.  Can't  I  see  it  in  the  mouth  and  the 
eyes  of  you — 'tis  fair  famished  you  are.  Here 
now,  here's  the  fine  dried  hake,  and  the  fine 
scone  your  mother  baked  yesterday  mornin,'  and 
the  fine  hot  tea.  Eat  and  drink  now  and  then 
go  to  sleep  with  you." 

"  And  won't  you  eat  too,  father  ?  " 

"  Me  eat?  Sure,  didn't  me  and  the  gentle 
man  ate  till  we  almost  busted  at  the  hotel  ? " 

"  At  the  hotel  ?  What  did  you  have  there, 
father  ?  Was  it  fine  ?  and  a  lot  of  it  ?  " 

123 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

" '  Fine  ?  and  a  lot  of  it '  ?  There  was  every 
thing  any  man  could  think  of,  and  a  lot  some 
men  could  never  think  of.  There  was  turkey 
and  duck  and  puddin' " 

"  Plum-puddin',  father? " 

"  Plum-puddin'  and  three  other  kinds." 

"  Ooh ! " 

"And  pasties  and  grapes  and  jellies  and 
oranges  and  bananas  and  cake — oh,  there  was 
lashin's  of  everything,  things  I  don't  know  the 
names  of  at  all." 

"  M-m-m — but  you  did  eat  a  lot  for  the  little 
time  you  was  in  the  hotel,  father." 

"  For  the  little  time  ?  Of  course.  We  raced 
through  it  so  we  wouldn't  miss  the  cars.  And 
how  did  you  come  to  know  we  was  in  the  hotel 
only  a  little  time  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  remember  me  saying  I  was  out 
side  in  the  road  to  see  you  come  out  and  go  up 
the  street  with  the  gentleman  ?  " 

"  I  forgot  that.  But  you  was  outside  all  the 
time  ?  Watchin'  your  betters  ?  Tammie,  don't 
ever  you  do  that  again.  You  don't  know  what 
private  business  they  might  be  wantin'  to  talk 
over.  Don't  ever  you  do  that  again,  Tammie. 
And  have  another  mug  o'  tea  now." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  And  ate  up  the  fish  and  bread." 
124 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

"  It's  all  eat  up,  father." 

"  Sure,  and  so  it  is.  O  Tammie,  only  all  the 
shops  is  closed,  but  'tis  we  two,  just  the  two  of 
us  down  here,  would  be  having  the  fine  supper 
now — me,  with  pound  notes  in  my  pocket.  But 
there's  a  little  droppeen  o'  tea  left,  alanna.  Take 
it  and  finish  it  up  now,  like  a  good  b'y." 

"  I'm  full,  father." 

"  And  you're  sleepy  by  the  looks  of  you." 

"  A  little,  father.  I  was  up  at  four  o'clock 
this  morning.  I  was  up  that  time  you  left  this 
morning  to  see  if  the  hooker  was  all  right  when 
you  heard  the  gale  coming  on.  I  saw  you  goin' 
out,  though  you  didn't  see  me,  'cause  it  was  dark 
— ooh,  wasn't  it  dark,  m-m-m — "  He  winked 
his  eyes,  rested  his  head  against  the  edge  of  the 
bunk,  and  suddenly  went  off  to  sleep. 

The  fisherman  bent  over  him.  "  The  poor 
b'y,  tired  to  death  he  is  with  his  five-and-twenty 
mile  and  the  mail-car  this  evenin'.  Well,  well, 
the  faith  of  a  child ! "  He  gathered  him  up 
and  laid  him  tenderly  in  the  bunk.  "  'Tis  old 
rags  that's  under  you,  poor  b'y,  but  they're  half 
dry  and  maybe  they'll  save  you  from  going  back 
to  your  mother  with  your  lungs  choked  with  the 
cold." 

He  turned  to  the  fire.  From  the  board  that 
had  served  as  a  plate  for  Tammie  he  swept  off 

125 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

the  crumbs  and  swallowed  them  with  relish. 
What  was  left  of  the  tea  he  poured  out  into  a 
mug — less  than  half  a  mug  it  made — and  drank 
it  off.  "  My  soul,  but  that's  fine."  He  smacked 
his  lips  over  it.  He  kept  smacking  while  he 
was  making  ready  to  light  his  pipe  by  a  dying 
ember  that  he  coaxed  from  the  hearth.  With 
his  pipe  going,  he  leaned  back  against  the  planks 
of  the  hooker's  side,  and  through  the  smoke  and 
half  light  regarded  the  face  of  the  lad  as  it  shone 
from  among  the  pile  of  old  clothes  in  the  bunk. 

"  And  to  think  of  him  walking  the  twenty-five 
mile  over  the  road  to  Costla  in  the  mornin'. 
Many's  the  time  I  walked  it  myself  at  his  age,  and 
I  know  what  it  is.  But  it's  a  stout  lad  I  was  to 
him  with  his  little  thin  legs,  and  the  little  feet 
and  toes  blue  with  the  cold,  and  maybe  nobody 
along  the  whole  way  to  know  how  far  he  came, 
and  to  ask  him  in  to  have  a  bite  to  ate  and  a  sup 
to  drink.  Glory  be,  but  is  that  water  ?  " 

He  shifted  about  and  felt  his  back.  "  Water, 
no  less,  and  there  isn't  a  j'int  in  her  old  bones 
the  sea  didn't  squeeze  through  to-day.  But 
she's  the  greatest  little  one  of  them  all  out  of 
Costla.  I  wouldn't  give  her  for  some  that's  twice 
as  young.  Thirty-five  year  this  summer.  Thirty- 
five  year — the  prime  of  life.  Many's  the  gale  my 
own  father  sailed  her.  And  many's  the  gale  my- 

126 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

self  has  sailed  her,  and  many  a  gale  I'll  sail  her 
yet,  with  God's  blessing.  Sure  I'd  like  to  know 
the  time  she  made  across  the  bay  this  day.  My, 
but  she  fair  leaped  across  the  bay.  Ah,  ah,  but 
the  bones  of  me  is  getting  old.  They  crack  with 
every  move  I  make — with  every  move,  yes.  And 
that  young  man  from  America,  God-speed  to 
him.  And  the  poor  childer  of  Dan  Costello— 
the  poor,  poor  childer — the  Lord  pity  them  !  If 
I  was  gone  now,  'tis  the  hard  time  my  own  would 
have.  You're  a  brave  little  man,  Tammie,  but 
what  could  you  do  ag'in'  the  world — poor,  poor 
Tammie — poor,  poor  childer." 

His  eyes,  turning  from  the  figure  in  the  bunk, 
regarded  intently  the  red  glow  of  the  fire  on  the 
hearth.  The  glow  became  duller  under  his  gaze 
and  the  air  about  him  grew  colder.  It  occurred 
to  him  that  a  little  more  wood  on  the  fire  would 
be  a  fine  thing,  but  when  he  came  to  look  in  the 
locker  there  was  no  more  wood.  "  Glory  be,"  he 
said,  softly,  "  but  it  went  fast."  'He  thought  to 
close  the  hatch,  but,  looking  up,  his  eyes  were 
caught  and  held  by  the  shine  of  the  stars.  "  The 
blessed  little  stars !  "  he  whispered ;  "  even  when 
it's  windy  and  cold  it  is,  ye're  there  to  make  the 
night  fine.  And  the  little  bit  of  candle" — he 
strove  to  shield  it  for  a  moment  from  the  wind — 
"  'tis  no  use,  'twill  soon  be  out.  And  it's  falling 

127 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

asleep  anonst  to  myself  I  am  and  maybe  the  little 
lad  cold  in  the  bunk." 

He  tucked  the  blankets  more  closely  about  the 
boy,  laid  the  tips  of  his  fingers  on  the  flushed 
cheek,  and  whispering  softly,  "Tammie,  alanna, 
is  it  asleep  you  are  ? "  bent  his  head  low  for  an 
answer.  The  boy's  gentle  breathing  was  the  best 
answer.  "  That's  good,  and  now,  maybe,  I'll  get 
a  bit  of  sleep  myself — 'twas  the  long  wet  day  this 
day — yes,  the  long  wet  day." 

But,  tired  as  he  was,  he  forced  eyes  and  ears  to 
do  duty  for  a  while  yet.  He  must  make  certain 
that  all  was  well.  Listening,  he  made  out  that 
beneath  the  old  hull  the  tide  was  still  running. 
He  hearkened  for  some  minutes  to  the  sound  of 
it.  Less  noise  there  was  now  to  be  sure,  but 
wasn't  that  to  be  expected  with  the  slack  water 
coming  on  ?  Once  more  he  gazed  up  through 
the  hatchway.  The  stars  were  yet  shining — not 
so  shiny  maybe  as  a  while  ago,  but  how  else  would 
they  be  and  the  gray  dawn  coming  on  ?  The  fire, 
dying  a  minute  back,  was  dead  altogether  now, 
but  who  could  blame  it  with  not  so  much  as  the 
shaving  of  a  match  to  put  on  it  ?  Sure  even  a 
man  would  die  and  he  wasn't  fed — yes.  And  the 
candle,  the  little  bit  of  candle,  going — no,  but 
gone  out  entirely.  And  my  own  pipe  gone  out 
with  it. 

128 


A  Fisherman  of  Costla 

He  lay  quiet  for  a  time  before  he  moved  a 
hand  to  take  the  pipe  from  his  lips,  but  somehow 
he  couldn't  get  a  match  to  light.  Well,  there'd 
been  smoking  enough.  And,  after  all,  why  should 
the  pipe  be  going  when  everything  else  was  gone? 
Sure  all  the  light  and  heat  was  gone.  Pipe, 
candle,  stars,  fire — all  gone  out.  But  Tammie — 
listen — yes,  he  was  sleeping  fine.  The  poor  boy, 
poor  Tammie — the  poor,  poor  little  Costello 
childer — the  poor  fatherless  childer  everywhere — 
to  all  poor  childer  may  God  be  good — may  God 
be  good 

Gradually  the  weary  head  sagged  until  it  was 
fairly  on  the  shoulder  nearest  the  bunk ;  gradually 
the  legs,  which  had  been  drawn  up  at  the  knees, 
straightened  out  until  they  found  a  brace  against 
the  edge  of  the  hearthstone  ;  unnoticed,  the  pipe 
slipped  from  the  relaxing  fingers ;  softly  the  lips 
murmured  beneath  the  beard — "  to  all  poor  chil 
der  may  God  be  good  " — the  shaggy  head  settled 
into  the  peak  of  the  hooker — "may  God  be  good" 
— and  this  fisherman  of  Costla,  his  day's  work 
done,  was  off  for  his  night's  rest.  The  morrow 
would  bring  its  own  labors. 


129 


TOMMIE  OHLSEN'S  WESTERN 
PASSAGE 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western 
Passage 

ALONG  the  rocky  shores  of  Old  Cape  Ann 
an  easterly  gale  was  stirring.  In  from  the 
sea  by  way  of  the  Point,  across  the  harbor,  and 
through  the  streets  of  Gloucester  it  moved  bois 
terously.  Up  on  the  hill  it  sent  unfastened  blinds 
aswirling,  jarred  bricks  from  unstable  chimneys, 
and  eventually  forced  all  the  old  ladies  with  the 
shawls  to  draw  in  their  heads,  slam  down  the 
window-sashes,  and  protest,  with  tight  lips  and 
shaking  heads,  that  not  for  some  time  yet  would 
it  be  safe  for  a  body  to  venture  out — no  indeed, 
not  even  if  the  glass  was  arisin'.  Down  along  the 
wharf-front  it  whistled  through  halyards,  stays, 
and  the  unclewed  tops'ls  of  vessels  in  the  docks, 
and  from  the  more  lofty  roofs  picked  up  and 
skied  to  the  clouds  everything  that  was  not  made 
fast  with  at  least  a  double  hitch.  The  most 
heavenward  structure  down  that  way,  the  observa 
tion-tower  of  the  fish-syndicate,  shook  and  bent 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

as  if  it  were  not  more  than  a  church-steeple,  and 
the  very  top  of  the  tower,  the  "  Crow's  Nest," 
swayed  in  a  way  to  suggest  to  one  imaginative  in 
mate  the  snapping  of  a  whip,  and  to  another,  this 
one  even  more  imaginative  possibly,  the  evolu 
tions,  as  he  put  it,  of  a  burgee  to  the  main  truck. 
It  was  a  northeast  gale  from  Newfoundland  to 
Cape  Cod,  the  Weather  Bureau  said,  with  some 
minor  wrecks  along  the  coast. 

Up  in  Crow's  Nest  they  read  all  the  weather 
reports,  but  it  took  more  than  weather  reports  to 
disturb  their  peace  of  mind.  They  knew  that  a 
fleet  of  distressed  coasters  had  come  bumping  into 
the  harbor  over  night  for  refuge,  and  that  a  string 
of  storm-flags  was  still  flying  from  the  roof  of  the 
Custom-house — they  could  see  all  that  and  a  lot 
more  from  their  aery,  but  they  were  not  worrying 
particularly  up  in  Crow's  Nest.  It  was  too  bad, 
of  course,  about  the  coasters,  but  coasters  and 
fishermen  weren't  the  same — not  by  a  blame 
sight,  not  by  a  ding-blame  sight — not  meaning 
any  disrespect  to  the  coasters.  And  as  for  the 
storm-flags,  a  lot  of  wind  out  to  sea  was  no  reason 
that  there'd  be  lives  lost  on  the  Banks.  Wind, 
just  plain  wind,  never  hurt  anybody.  And  this 
was  only  a  summer  gale  anyway,  and  it  was  able 
vessels  and  able  seamen  sailing  out  of  Gloucester. 
This  breeze  might  give  the  passengers  on  ocean- 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

liners  something  to  talk  about  on  winter-nights 
for  a  few  years  after  they  got  back  to  the  prairies 
again,  but  good  Lord  !  there  were  skippers  out 
of  Gloucester  who,  if  they  happened  to  be  in  a 
hurry  home,  wouldn't  bother  to  reef  for  this — 
no,  sir,  wouldn't  stop  to  reef,  but  keep  her  com 
ing  all  the  way.  Lord,  yes,  keep  her  coming  all 
the  way. 

They  were  doing  very  well  up  in  Crow's  Nest 
this  tempestuous  morning.  With  a  fine  drying 
fire  in  the  stove,  and  close  by  the  stove  a  new  level 
of  fresh,  inviting  sawdust,  with  what  looked  like 
a  sufficiency  of  tobacco  in  sight  and  what  appeared 
to  be  a  disposition  to  pass  it  around,  with  hatches 
drawn  and  a  new  tin-patch  on  the  roof — with  all 
tight  and  dry  and  snug,  why  shouldn't  they  be 
doing  well  ?  The  storm  without  seemed  only  to 
better  the  humor  of  those  within.  They  heark 
ened  to  the  roaring  of  the  gale  outside,  and  they 
all  began  to  feel  as  if  they  had  just  come  off 
watch — a  hard  watch  in  the  thick  o'  fog,  with 
sheets  straining  and  seas  breaking  over  her  quar 
ter — and  bathed  in  the  glow  that  comes  of  that 
kind  of  thinking  and  wrapped  twice  around  in 
the  belief,  on  this  particular  morning,  that  in  all 
Gloucester  their  quarters  were  not  to  be  improved 
upon,  could  they  be  feeling  otherwise  than  com 
fortable  up  in  Crow's  Nest  ? 

US 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

The  helpers,  who  clung  to  the  locker-seats  like 
barnacles,  felt  to  the  full  the  measure  of  all  this 
comfort.  Blissfully  they  sat  and  smoked  and 
spat  toward  the  outlying  parts  of  the  box  of  saw 
dust.  To  be  sure,  they  did  have  their  little 
troubles.  Every  little  while,  in  obedience  to 
"  Old  Peter's  "  voice  of  authority,  somebody  or 
other  would  have  to  detach  himself  from  his  posi 
tion  on  the  locker  and  stand  his  watch.  With  a 
lingering  motion  that  suggested  something  of  the 
tenacious  love  of  a  periwinkle  for  a  low-water 
rock,  the  commanded  one  would  tear  himself  off, 
make  his  way  to  the  port-hole,  take  a  look  out, 
and  report  to  old  Peter,  the  one  man  there  who 
drew  pay,  and  who,  sitting  in  his  easy-chair  with 
his  feet  on  the  edge  of  the  sawdust-box  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  and  his  back  to  the  seaward- 
side,  should  have  been  enjoying  the  greatest  com 
fort  of  all.  He  should  have  been,  it  would  seem, 
but  for  an  hour  now  the  volunteers  had  reported 
nothing  but  mist  and  white-caps  out  to  sea,  and 
Peter  was  getting  nervous.  The  picture  of  the 
catastrophe,  if  one  of  the  firm's  vessels  should 
steal  in  unreported,  photographed  itself  on  his 
mind  so  frequently  that  he  felt  impelled  at  length 
to  ease  his  nerves,  even  at  the  risk  of  slightly 
wounding  the  feelings  of  an  aide-de-camp  or  two 
of  his  staff.  "  With  this  gale  behind  'em,"  said 

136 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

Peter,  by  way  of  breaking  more  gently  to  them 
his  very  low  estimate  of  their  worth  as  look-outs 
— "  with  this  gale  behind  'em,  it  seems  to  me 
there  ought  to  be  some  of  the  fleet  comin'  along 
soon.  In  a  breeze  of  this  kind,  the  fairest  kind 
of  a  wind  to  the  east'ard,  and  enough  of  it  to  suit 
the  most  desp'rate  sail-carriers  out  of  Gloucester, 
they  oughter  be  comin'  along  like  a  drove  of  wild 
horses  pretty  soon,  don't  you  think  ?  Anyway, 
maybe  I'd  better  take  a  look  for  myself.  No 
offence  meant ;  but  you  lads  brought  up  ashore, 
you  haven't  the  eyes  for  it  quite — not  quite. 
And  you're  gettin'  to  love  your  comfort  too  well. 
Anyway,  I  callate  I'd  better  take  a  look  for  my 
self." 

He  rose  regretfully,  stuffed  his  pipe  into  his 
pocket  and  had  a  look  for  himself. 

What  he  saw,  off-shore,  was  a  tumble  of  long 
seas  and  a  field  of  scud  flying  before  the  gale  in 
many  patches ;  and,  inshore,  the  swift  advance  of 
many  lines  of  bold-marked  ridges  piling  high  in 
a  green-white  tumult  above  the  rocks  of  the  Cape. 
He  viewed  them  calmly,  as  a  man  who  has  fought 
them  views  them — to  sea,  the  crested,  sweeping 
waves  and  the  flick-lashing  of  the  wind  whipping 
over  them ;  and  along  the  rocky  shore,  the  bold 
rollers  tumbling  over,  piling  up,  and  crashing 
high,  and  the  wake  of  the  fierce  under-tow  swirl- 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

ing  back  again.  He  watched  it  for  a  while,  this 
play  of  the  sea,  not  alone  that  little  part  of  the 
sea  almost  beneath  him,  but  also  that  greater 
part  far  out  from  him,  and  then  took  note  of  the 
sky  above ;  not  near  so  thick  massed  now  were 
the  clouds,  as  when  he  had  last  looked  out,  an 
hour  ago,  nor  driving  so  turbulently,  and  yet  they 
were  still  flying  with  great  speed.  "  They'll  be 
gone  by  noon,"  thought  Peter,  "and  we'll  walk 
home  to  dinner  with  the  sun  shining  through 
again,  or  I  don't  know." 

Musing  thoughtfully  over  that,  he  drew  his 
pipe  from  his  pocket  and  struck  a  match.  The 
match  sputtered  and  went  out.  He  lit  a  second, 
and  then — then  it  was  he  saw  her.  Waiting  for 
the  second  match  to  blaze,  and  looking  unprepar 
edly  out  through  her  port-hole,  but  with  an  habit 
ual  watchfulness  withal,  his  keen  old  eyes  saw  her. 
A  shaft  of  sunlight  breaking  prematurely  through 
the  thinning  clouds  struck  her  and  lit  her  up,  just 
as  his  eyes  happened  to  rest  on  the  right  spot, 
and  he  saw  her — a  flash  of  a  handsome  fisherman, 
long  and  narrow — black  hull  that  shone  and  gold 
stripe  that  glittered.  Jumbo,  jib,  fore,  main, 
and  both  topsails — in  his  admiration  he  noted 
every  sail  of  her,  as  might  any  landsman  who 
had  never  learned  to  take  in  hull  and  rig  entire, 
the  whole  thing  at  a  glance.  "  By  the  Lord,  but 

138 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

she's  an  able  vessel !  "  breathed  Peter,  "  and  her 
skipper,  whoever  he  is,  is  a-sockin'  it  to  her. 
Drive  her,  drive  her,  God  bless  you,  drive  her. 
Two  tops'ls  !  By  the  Lord,  but  you're  the  lad 
to  get  her  home — drive  her  !  " 

Unconsciously  he  had  spoken  the  last  few 
words  aloud,  and  now  the  whole  room  was  at 
his  shoulder.  It  took  such  an  announcement  as 
that  to  wake  them  up.  "  Two  tops'ls  did  you 
say?  In  this  breeze?  Where? — where?" 

"  Look,"  answered  Peter  with  an  indicating 
arm.  "  Look.  See  her  now  ?  Where's  the 
glasses  ?  Maybe  I  c'n  make  her  out."  He 
looked,  and  knew  her.  "  It's  the  Nannie  O,  by 
the  Lord!  See  her  now?"  They  looked  and 
saw  her.  They  did  not  know  her  from  any  other 
vessel,  but  they  saw  the  low,  black  hull  with  all 
the  white  sail.  Tearing  around  the  Point  she 
was  then,  with  her  lee  cat-heads  just  showing  out 
of  water. 

"  Are  you  sure  that's  the  Nannie,  Peter  ?  "  in 
quired  a  doubting  one  at  his  shoulder.  "  Are 
you  sure  ?  Wasn't  it  only  yesterday  some  skip 
per  reported  leaving  her  seven  or  eight  hundred 
miles  to  the  east'ard  only  a  few  days  ago  and  she 
not  ready  to  leave  for  two  or  three  days.  Some 
where  up  on  the  Grand  Banks  she  was  then — last 
Thursday,  I  think  it  was — and  not  goin'  to  leave 

139 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

for  two  or  three  days — and  now  only  Tuesday. 
That  skipper  got  in  only  yesterday  afternoon, 
Peter,  and  he  made  a  pretty  fair  passage  himself, 
they  said." 

"  Hush,"  chided  Peter,  "  there's  passages  and 
passages.  It's  Tommie  Ohlsen  himself.  Ain't 
he  a  dog  though  ?  Four  lowers  and  two  tops'ls, 
his  deck  awash  to  the  hatches,  two  men  to  the 
wheel  and  the  rest  of  the  crew  huggin'  up  under 
the  weather-rail — yes,  and  glad  they're  so  near 
home,  I'll  bet.  Only  yesterday  afternoon,  Wai- 
lie  Manning — the  Cleopatra — in  from  a  shackin' 
trip — it's  him  what  one  o'  you  meant,  I  s'pose — 
Wallie  reports  the  Nannie  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  mile  to  the  east'ard  and  not  goin'  to  leave 
afore  Saturday  night.  *  Any  message  ? '  says 
Wallie  to  Tommie — *  any  message  ? '  *  Nothin' 
particular,' says  Tommie.  ( Might  tell  the  old  man, 
when  you  get  in,  he  might  be  gettin'  a  new  fore- 
gaff  ready  for  the  Nannie.  This  one  we  got  now 
went  to  hell  on  the  way  out — fixed  it  up  as  well 
as  we  could,  but  if  we  has  to  jibe  her  over  again 
all  standin'  something's  liable  to  happen  to  the 
Nannie  if  it  comes  thick  and  there's  rocks  under 
our  lee  goin'  home.  Main  topm'st  a  little  sprung, 
but  we  c'n  make  that  go  a  while  longer,  I  cal- 
late.'  '  And  when  will  you  be  leavin'  for  home? ' 
asks  Wallie.  *  Not  afore  Saturday  night  at  dark, 

140 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

anyway,'  says  Tommie.  'We'll  fish  the  week 
out,  anyway.  If  we  have  good  luck  we'll  swing 
her  off  Saturday  night.  If  the  wind's  fair  and 
we  have  any  luck  fishin' — Saturday  night,  but 
not  before,'  says  Tommie.  £  Good-by.  Report 
me  to  the  wife,  if  you  happen  to  go  by  the 
house,'  and  he  waves  his  hand  to  Wallie  as  the 
Cleopatra  goes  shootin'  by. 

"  So  Saturday  night  he  must've  sailed  and  here 
it's  only  Tuesday  morning.  Two  days  and  three 
nights,  and  seven  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  I  s'pose 
we  c'n  say,  he's  come.  I'll  bet  there  was  some 
draggin'  of  sail  on  the  Nannie  comin'  home. 
Two  men  to  the  wheel  to  hold  her,  the  deck 
jumpin',  if  I  know  Tommie,  and  life-lines  out 
maybe  and  himself  with  his  arm  hooked  into  the 
main  riggin'  all  the  way  home.  Maybe  I  that's 
sailed  with  him  don't  know." 

"  The  wind  must've  been  fair  all  the  way," 
hazarded  somebody  over  by  the  stairs,  "when 
she  made  such  good  time." 

"  Fair  enough  if  it's  the  same  way  to  the  east'- 
ard  as  it's  been  here  at  Cape  Ann  the  last  three 
or  four  days.  Tommie  wouldn't  want  it  any 
fairer  than  this.  It  oughter  suited  Tommie  like 
a  fish  on  every  hook — abaft  the  beam  and  plenty 
of  it.  That's  what  pleases  Tommy,  wind  any 
where  along  there — abaft  the  beam — over  the 

141 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

quarter.  Man,  I  mind  how  pleased  he  was  that 
time  we  put  into  that  Norwegian  port  up  to  the 
no'the-'ard  just  afore  we  left  for  home  that  sum 
mer,  after  Tommie  'd  made  that  long  cruise  for 
new  halibut-grounds.  Went  clear  up  to  Spitz- 
bergen  afore  he  stopped  that  trip.  The  Lord 
knows  how  many  thousand  miles  we  sailed  the 
Nannie  that  trip.  I  know  we  got  about's  far  as 
some  of  them  North  Pole  hunters  ever  gets.  At 
eighty  north  I  know  we  was  ketchin'  halibut,  but 
the  ice  chased  us  south  again.  The  Nannie  O 
warn't  no  polar-boat,  you  see,  full  of  solid  beams 
inside  and  with  grub  for  about  four  hundred  men 
and  dogs  for  four  hundred  year,  and  so  Tommie 
flew  before  the  ice,  and  that's  the  time  he  put 
into  this  Norwegian  port.  What  was  the  name 
of  it  now? — ha?  Christiansund  ?  No,  not  Chris- 
tiansund — I  mind  Christiansund,  where  you  shoot 
in  the  harbor  at  one  end  and  out  the  other. 
'Twas  away  farther  north  than  that.  Stamsund? 
No,  I  mind  that,  too.  No,  not  Ellingsund,  but 
some  name  like  that.  Anyway,  up  that  way  it 
was — some  sund  port  up  there  to  the  no'the-'ard. 
Tommie,  you  know,  was  born  somewhere  up  in 
Norway  in  one  of  them  sort  of  bays — fjords  they 
calls  'em — up  near  them  cod-fishing  islands,  the 
Lofodens.  But  he  came  away  from  there  so 
early  that  it  didn't  leave  any  bad  effects.  You 

142 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

know  what  I  mean.  There's  some  able  fisher 
men  up  there,  let  me  tell  you,  but  they  don't 
have  the  vessels  nor  the  gear  we  have.  There's 
where  they  go  out  in  open  boats  no  bigger  than 
one  of  our  seine-boats — not  so  big  sometimes — 
with  just  one  square  sail  in  the  middle  and  they 
can't  hug  no  nearer  than  six  points  to  the  wind, 
though  in  their  national  pride,  as  you  might  say, 
they'll  tell  you  they  c'n  get  within  five  points 
and  sometimes  four  points,  which  is  fool-talk  on 
the  face  of  it.  For  with  one  square  sail  in  the 
middle  of  her  and  no  keel  to  amount  to  anything 
and  loose  rock  in  the  bottom  for  ballast,  how 
could  they?  Anyway,  out  they  go,  and  in  the 
winter,  too,  fifty  or  sixty  miles  off  shore,  and  of 
course  they  sometimes  get  caught,  a  lot  of  'em, 
and  don't  come  back.  I  see  by  the  paper  the 
other  day  where  a  hundred  of  'em  was  lost  lately 
in  one  gale. 

"  Now  Tommie  was  brought  up  to  that  when 
he  was  a  little  boy,  and  when  he  comes  over  this 
side,  why  he  was  just  ripe  for  Gloucester.  He 
learned  fast.  You  c'n  just  imagine  how  a  big  fast 
able  Gloucester  schooner  would  hit  a  Norwegian 
boy  who'd  been  having  to  go  out  and  ketch  fish 
in  open  boats.  Anyway,  he  warn't  fishing  out  o' 
Gloucester  many  years  afore  he  begins  to  get 
ideas  about  things,  being  a  husky,  intelligent  lad 

143 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

and  not  scared  of  anything  that  ever  came  out 
the  sea.  He  got  chances  with  the  best  skippers 
out  o'  Gloucester.  He  got  a  lot  of  ideas  about 
carryin'  sail  'specially.  One  thing  he  got  good  and 
hard  into  his  head  was  that  a  real  skipper  never 
takes  in  his  mains'l  while  anybody  else  in  sight's 
got  one  standing.  And  when  he  did  get  that 
into  his  head — an'  you  know  how  the  right  kind 
of  a  boy'll  go  the  limit  to  be  as  good  as  some 
body  he  admires — well  when  Tommie  after  fishin* 
with  half  a  dozen  of  the  craziest  sail-carriers  out 
of  here,  when  he'd  been  with  them  a  while  and 
then  gets  a  vessel  of  his  own,  why  it  got  so  that 
men  with  families  used  to  talk  it  over  on  the 
corner  afore  they  shipped  with  Tommie.  Of 
course,  Tommie  had  sort  of  soaked  in  the  atmos 
phere,  as  you  might  say,  by  that  time. 

"Well,  this  time  I'm  telling  about  he  was 
in  what  I  call  the  proper  temper  to  try  some  sail- 
carryin'.  The  few  years  he'd  been  skipper  up  to 
a  while  afore  this  he'd  been  in  old  plugs,  but,  be- 
ginnin'  to  do  pretty  well,  the  firm  built  him  the 
Nannie  O,  and  Tommie  cert'nly  thought  he  was 
fixed  then.  And  he  had  a  right  to  think  he  was, 
for  if  ever  an  able  vessel  sailed  past  Eastern 
Point  it  was  the  Nannie  O  in  her  younger  days. 
And  he  did  love  that  vessel !  Man,  but  I  mind 
how  his  eyes  used  to  shine  every  time  he  took  a 

144 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

look  at  her.  *  Ain't  she  able-lookin'  ? '  he'd  say, 
and  look  around  to  see  that  everybody  else 
thought  so,  too.  Even  now,  looking  at  her  com 
ing  in  the  harbor,  you  don't  have  to  look  twice  to 
see  she's  an  able  vessel.  And  if  she's  able  now, 
think  what  she  must've  been  afore  she  was  druv 
to  death.  She's  got  iron  hoops  around  her  now 
from  chain-plates  to  chain-plates,  fore  and  aft,  to 
hold  her  together,  and  the  signs  are  on  her  where 
she  spits  out  her  oakum  reg'larly.  But  this  time 
I'm  telling  you  she  was  only  two  year  old,  and 
able  ! — able,  I'm  telling  you,  able  as  Tommie 
himself,  and  Tommie  is  able.  I've  seen  him, 
when  I  was  on  the  Nannie  O,  take  a  buoy-line 
and  throw  the  bight  of  it  around  the  main-boom 
— the  best  manila  line,  mind — thick  as  a  clothes 
line,  I'm  telling  you  shore-people,  if  there's  any 
here — and  pull  on  that  with  one  finger — the  long 
finger  of  his  right  hand — a  steady  pull,  mind,  and 
no  trick-work,  just  a  steady  pull,  and  break  it. 
I  call  that  an  able  man,  and  that's  what  Tommie 
did  and  c'n  do  to  this  day — and  he's  getting  old 
now,  too." 

"  How  old,  Peter  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  kind  that 
must  always  have  the  details  of  things. 

"  O  Lord,  I  dunno.  I  mean  old  for  his  age. 
Lord,  he's  got  just  as  much  fire  now  as  ever  he 
had.  You  just  try  to  cross  his  bows  once  and 

'45 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

see.  But,  anyway,  he  had  the  fire  in  him  this 
time.  He  was  the  right  age,  I  call  it,  for  a  man 
to  like  to  take  chances — in  the  middle  thirties — 
not  too  long  married,  and  restless  as  a  cat  if  he 
was  so  much  as  a  week  away  from  home.  He 
cert'nly  was  restless  that  trip — kept  things  jump 
ing  !  If  you'd  only  seen  the  way  he  drove  into 
that  port  in  Norway — a  heavy  no'therly  gale. 
We  threw  her  into  the  wind  just  long  enough  to 
pick  up  the  pilot — I  remember  him  just  as  well — 
a  big  lad  all  oiled  up,  and  I  mind  how  we  gaffed 
him  over  the  rail  like  a  big,  broad-backed  halibut, 
with  the  salt  water  runnin'  off  him.  He  could 
talk  pretty  good  English,  this  lad,  like  a  lot  of 
them  Norwegian  pilots,  and  he  begins  to  talk  as 
soon's  he's  found  the  deck  under  his  feet.  First 
he  sings  out  to  take  in  tops'ls  and  reef  the  mains'l. 
It'd  done  you  good  to  seen  him  wave  his  hands 
and  give  orders.  '  You  will  drown,'  says  he. 

"  Drown  a  dog-fish  !  "  says  Tommie.  "  The 
Nannie  O's  carried  her  tops'ls  to  here,  and  I  cal- 
late  she'll  carry  'em  a  few  miles  farther." 

"  But  she  cannot." 

"  But  she  can,"  says  Tommie. 

"  Then  I  will  not — will  not — take  the  respon 
sibility,"  says  the  pilot. 

"  Then  you  needn't.  Who  in  the  name  of 
creation  asked  you  to?"  says  Tommie.  "All 

146 


Tomraie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

you  got  to  do  is  to  stand  by  and  pick  out  the 
buoys,  an'  bime-by  collect  your  fees,  and  I'll 
tend  to  the  handlin'  of  her." 

It  was  a  blowing  a  livin'  gale,  mind,  in  from 
the  no'the-'ard,  and  Tommie  druv  her  in  for  this 
queer-named  port  with  four  lowers  and  two 
tops'ls  like  you  see  him  comin'  past  the  whistlin' 
buoy  now  if  you  look  out  the  port-hole.  There 
was  one  of  them  tourist  steamers  we  passed  on 
the  way — one  of  them  big  steamers  that'd  been 
up  to  see  the  midnight  sun,  I  s'pose,  and  the 
passengers  was  huddled  up  on  deck  and  watchin* 
us.  I  mind  how  some  of  'em  pulled  out  their 
handkerchiefs  and  waved  'em  at  us.  Oh,  but 
Tommie  liked  that ! 

"We  oughter  have  our  flag  to  the  main  peak," 
he  says,  "  to  show  'em  what  she  is."  He  looks 
aloft  to  see  in  his  mind  how  the  flag'd  look,  and 
the  more  he  looks  aloft  the  more  ideas  he  gets. 
"Yes,  and  the  balloon  and  stays'l  to  her — she'd 
stand  it.  I  know  she'd  stand  it.  She's  able  for 
it,  I  know,"  he  says,  and  he  looks  up  at  her  top- 
sticks — they  was  bending  then  like  two  whips  and 
some  of  us  was  having  a  cold  chill  to  think  he'd 
try  it.  But  he  shakes  his  head  at  last.  "Twouldn't 
be  seamanlike,  would  it?  It'd  be  like  putting 
on  airs,  bein'  so  close  to  port.  Wouldn't  it, 
Peter  ? "  he  says,  turnin'  to  me,  though  he 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

didn't  gen'rally  ask  for  advice,  and  I  said  it 
cert'nly  would. 

We  was  getting  into  the  harbor  then,  which 
was  the  other  side  of  an  opening  about  forty  feet 
wide,  where  the  ends  of  the  two  quays  didn't 
quite  come  together.  It  was  a  nice  little  harbor 
inside,  but  crowded  this  time  with  all  kind  of 
craft,  all  in  from  the  gale. 

"  Is  there  room,  do  you  think,  Skipper  ? "  I 
says  when  we  began  to  get  pretty  near. 

"  Oh,  we  oughter  be  able  to  squeeze  in,"  says 
Tommie. 

"  You  must  not,  you  must  not,"  says  the  pilot. 
He'd  been  a  sort  of  passenger  since  we'd  got  the 
channel  fixed  in  our  minds,  but  now  he  was  corn- 
in'  to  life  again — assertin*  his  authority  like. 
"  You  must  not,  you  must  not,"  he  says,  speak- 
in*  up  to  Tommie. 

"  Hush,"  says  Tommie. 

"  But  I  won't  take  the  responsibility,"  says  he. 

"  I'll  take  it  off  you,"  says  Tommie. 

"  But  I'm  pilot,"  says  he. 

"  But  I'm  skipper,"  says  Tommie. 

"  But  you  must  not,"  says  he. 

"  Mustn't  hell,"  says  Tommie,  gettin*  mad. 
"  Let  her  swing,"  he  says  to  me  at  the  wheel. 
"  Give  the  Nannie  O  a  full  and  let  her  roll !  " 
And  through  the  passage  she  went  flyin'  and  the 

148 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

waves  from  under  her  bows  went  up  against  the 
quays  like  she  was  an  ocean-liner  hooked  up. 

And  when  she  got  in  !  On  the  deck  of  every 
vessel  in  the  harbor  they  crowded  to  see  who 
was  the  strange  schooner  comin'  in  carryin*  her 
tops'ls  when  everything  under  sail  that  day  had 
come  in  with  what  they  had  in  the  way  of  lower 
sails  reefed  down.  Tommie  went  to  the  wheel 
himself  and,  man,  you  ought' ve  seen  him  shoot 
her  !  Up  she  came,  and  whing  !  My  soul,  I 
thought  she'd  go  another  quarter-mile  the  way 
he  slammed  her  into  the  wind  !  And  she  would 
have,  only  just  in  time  he  sings  out  and  cl-i-i-nk ! 
over  goes  the  anchor,  and  whr-r-r — down  comes 
jibs  and  fores'l,  and  there  we  was  all  standin'. 
Our  mains'l  was  shakin'  in  the  wind  wild  as  could 
be  and  the  reef-points  on  it  crackin'  like  a  hun 
dred  whips,  but  there  we  was  sure  enough  right  in 
the  middle  of  them  all,  with  their  eyes  poppin' 
out  at  us.  "  Break  out  her  flag  to  the  main  peak 
and  let  em'  know  what  country  this  one's  from," 
says  Tommie.  And  we  flies  our  big,  new  en 
sign,  and  in  a  second,  from  half  a  dozen  steam 
ers  'round  us  and  four  or  five  steam-yachts — if 
there  was  one  I'll  bet  there  was  a  hundred  people, 
men  and  women,  flashed  out  little  American  flags 
on  sticks  and  waves  'em  up  and  down  like  crazy 
people.  Warn't  we  surprised  though  ? 

149 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

There  was  a  big  steam-yacht  almost  alongside 
us,  and  "  From  what  port  do  you  hail  ?  "  sings  out 
a  fellow  from  the  bridge  of  her. 

"  Gloucester,"  sings  out  Tommie,  with  his  face 
flushin'  and  his  eyes  shinin'  out  through  the  rain 
and  salt  water  drippin'  from  his  face. 

"  By  God  !  "  sings  out  the  steam-yacht  fellow, 
"  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it — only  a  Gloucester  fisher 
man  would  do  it  or  could  do  it.  Come  aboard, 
won't  you,  Captain,  and  have  dinner  with  me  ? " 

"  There's  twenty-two  of  us  all  told,"  says 
Tommie,  kind  of  remindin'  him  like. 

"  All  right,"  says  the  steam-yacht  lad — he  was 
game  all  right,  "  come  aboard,  the  twenty-two  of 
you,"  and  we  went  aboard  half  an  hour  later,  all 
but  the  cook,  who'd  been  sent  ashore  for  grub 
and  the  letters,  and  we  had  dinner  in  the  cabin  of 
the  millionnaire's  yacht. 

Well,  we  was  at  that  dinner,  when  the  talk  of 
yachts  and  fishermen  came  up.  Tommie'd  been 
telling  of  some  sailin'  done  by  Gloucester  fisher 
men — some  fast  passages  from  the  Banks  mostly. 
Of  course,  he  didn't  forget  to  tell  a  few  things 
about  his  own  Nannie  O,  while  he  was  about  it. 
One  of  them  Valkyries — some  of  you  here  that's 
always  talkin'  yachtin'll  remember — one  of  'em 
was  just  then  comin'  over  to  race  for  the  America's 
cup  off  Sandy  Hook. 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

"  Now,  how  do  you  think  you'd  make  out 
with  her  ? "  asks  this  millionnaire — a  sugar- 
millionnaire  he  was,  I  think.  "  How  would  your 
vessel  and  the  Valkyrie  make  out  in  a  race  ?  " 

"  An  ocean-race  ?  "  asks  Tommie. 

"  Yes,"  he  answers. 

"  We  wouldn't  have  to  wet  our  rail,"  says 
Tommie. 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out  ? "  asks  the 
yachting  fellow. 

"  How  else  could  it  be  in  an  ocean-race  ? " 
says  Tommie.  "  We're  built  for  heavy  weather 
and  yachts  ain't.  They're  aloominum,  or  some 
other  queer  metal,  that's  about  as  thick  as  a  coat 
o'  spar-varnish,  and  we're  three-inch  oak.  They 
race  a  vessel  about  four  times,  and  then  have  to 
break  her  up  for  old  junk,  while  with  us,  it's 
eight  or  ten  years  afore  a  vessel  gets  real  loose — 
loose  so  the  men  have  to  wear  rubber-boots  in 
the  fore-hold.  No,  sir,  aloominum  and  three- 
inch  oak  ain't  the  same  thing.  No,  sir,  the  Nan 
nie  was  built  to  stay  to  sea  in  North  Atlantic 
winters,  and  in  the  worst  part  of  the  North  At 
lantic — the  shoals  where  the  fish  feeds  ;  but  these 
yachts,  so  far's  I  c'n  see — they're  built  'bout  as 
stiff"  as  window-sashes,  and  they  do  most  of  their 
cruisin'  in  sight  o'  land.  Of  course  they  do 
sometimes  cross  the  ocean — I  know  that — but 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

Lord,  the  care  they  take  when  they  do !  And  at 
home,  if  it  looks  bad,  they're  forever  runnin'  to  a 
harbor.  Now,"  says  Tommie,  "  imagine  what 
they'd  say  of  a  fisherman  in  Gloucester  if  he  was 
to  up  anchor  and  come  home  every  time  he  saw 
a  breeze  making.  S'pose  he  could  get  in  every 
time,  though  of  course  he  couldn't,  for  he'd  be 
caught  away  offshore,  two  or  three  or  four  hun 
dred  miles  or  more  sometimes.  But  s'pose  he  did 
spend  his  time  dodgin'  gales  ?  He'd  do  a  lot  of 
fishin',  wouldn't  he  ?  And  he'd  get  a  lot  of  men 
to  ship  with  him,  wouldn't  he  ?  So  our  vessels 
must  be  built  strong.  And  in  an  ocean  race 
now" — Tommie  shook  his  head,  sad-like,  to 
think  what  Gloucester  fishermen  misses  for  not 
gettin'  chances  in  ocean  races. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would  race 
your  vessel  against  the  Valkyrie — say  across  the 
ocean  ? "  asks  the  yachting  sharp,  after  studyin' 
Tommie  awhile. 

"  Race  the  Nannie  against  the  Valkyrie  across 
the  ocean  ?  "  Tommie  looks  at  the  steam-yacht 
lad  like  he  was  somethin'  queer  came  up  in  the 
trawls.  "  Why,  if  I  thought  the  Nannie  O 
couldn't  beat  any  blessed  yacht  of  her  length 
afloat  across  the  Western  Ocean,  I'd  sell  her  for 
a  wood-carrier  to  some  Nova  Scotia  trader — on 
my  life  I  would.  Race  her  against  the  Valkyrie 

152 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

across  the  ocean  ?  Why  'twould  be  a  sin  and  a 
shame — why,  don't  you  know  these  cup-chal 
lengers  goes  over  under  storm-sail  and  we've 
got  everything  in  God's  world  to  put  on  the 
Nannie?" 

"  But  if  it  is  light  weather,  wouldn't  she  have 
sail  enough  to  creep  along  as  fast  as  a  fisherman 
and " 

"  Would  she  creep  along  ?  "  says  Tommie. 
"  And  do  you  callate  the  Nannie  can't  waltz 
along  in  moderate  weather,  a  nine  or  ten  knot 
breeze  now — what  ?  " 

"  And  if  it  comes  heavy  weather,"  goes  on  the 
yachting  chap,  to  finish  up  his  argument,  "  she'll 
have  sail  enough,  anyway." 

Tommie  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  at 
that,  the  dishes  rattlin*  against  each  other  like 
ten-pins.  "  The  Lord  forgive  you,  but  can  you, 
a  man  that  knows  enough  about  the  sea  to  be 
runnin'  a  big  steam-yacht  like  this — can  you  im 
agine  a  breeze  when  I'd  be  keepin'  only  storm- 
sail  on  the  Nannie  if  I  was  racin'  her.  This  ves 
sel  of  mine  is  a  Gloucester  fisherman  that  was 
built  to  go  halibutin' — to  go  halibutin',  man. 
Look  here,  now,  when  does  this  Valkyrie  leave 
for  America  ?  "  Tommie  was  ready  to  explode. 

"  Oh,  but  you  couldn't  start  with  her  on  even 
terms,"  says  the  yachting  lad,  "  because  she's  due 

'53 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

to  leave  England  to-day.  That's  what  put  me  in 
mind  of  her.  She's  to  leave  Plymouth  to-day, 
and  that's  a  thousand,  yes  twelve  hundred  miles, 
nearer  America  than  this  place  is." 

"  To-day  ?  "  says  Tommie.  "  That's  too  early. 
I  want  to  go  ashore  and  send  a  letter  or  two 
home — maybe  telegraph  the  owners.  But  to 
morrow,  yes — we'll  sail  to-morrow.  We're  bound 
home,  anyway.  We  only  put  in  here  to  get  grub 
and  ice  and  water  and  send  letters  home.  What 
time  to-day  will  this  yacht  sail  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly.  Along  in  the  middle 
of  the  day  sometime." 

"  Well,  let's  average  it  up  and  call  it  twelve 
o'clock,"  says  Tommie.  "  Now,  to-morrow  at 
noon  I  swings  the  Nannie  O  off  for  Gloucester. 
I'll  give  that  Valkyrie  her  ten  or  twelve  hundred 
mile  start,  and  if  I  don't  beat  her  across  the 
Western  Ocean — ten  or  twelve  hundred  mile  and 
all — then  you  c'n  call  my  vessel  any  kind  of  a 
name  you  want.  Put  the  Nannie's  whole  sail  to 
her  storm-sail  to  offset  the  thousand-mile  start. 
We'll  sail  the  Nannie  to  Gloucester  and  they'll 
sail  the  Valkyrie  to  New  York.  Gloucester  may 
be  a  couple  of  hundred  mile  nearer  than  New 
York.  But  she'll  have  a  thousand  miles  on  us 
then  —  which  don't  matter.  Good-by,"  says 
Tommie.  "  I'm  goin'  aboard  to  see  what  the 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

cook's  got  for  the  passage,  but  to-morrow  at 
twelve  you  give  us  your  whistle  and  we'll  up  jibs 
and  off  for  Gloucester — and  bime-by  we'll  see." 

"  If  you  beat  her,"  says  the  millionnaire,  "  I'll 
give  you  something  handsome  for  the  sport  of  it." 

"  Never  mind  the  something  handsome,"  says 
Tommie.  "  But  I'll  reach  the  other  side  afore 
that  bloody  English  yacht,  or  sink  the  Nan 
nie  O." 

"  Hooray ! "  says  the  steam-yacht  lad,  "  and 
here's  to " — he  fills  the  glasses  all  around — 
"  What  will  we  drink  to  now  ?  Come  now,  Cap 
tain,  a  toast — what'll  we  drink  to  ?  " 

"  Plenty  wind,"  says  Tommie. 

And  we  got  plenty  wind.  We  never  waited 
till  next  day.  We  goes  aboard,  Tommie  gets  a 
letter  from  the  cook,  reads  it  two  or  three  times, 
jumps  on  deck  all  at  once,  says,  "  Break  her  out," 
and  we  turned  to.  It  was  blowin'  then  worse 
than  when  we  came  in.  The  steam-yacht  lad  was 
there  on  the  bridge  in  his  rain-coat.  "  I  say, 
Captain,  but  you're  not  going  to  start  to-day  ?  " 
he  hollers  out  to  Tommie. 

"  Why  not — ain't  this  the  day  ?  "  Tommie 
hollers  back.  We  were  heaving  on  the  anchor 
then,  and  Tommie  looks  around.  We  all  looks 
around.  We  thought  maybe  that  word  had  come 
that  the  Valkyrie'd  been  delayed. 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western   Passage 

"  Think  of  the  risk,  the  needless  risk,"  says 
the  yachting  sharp. 

"  Risk  ?  "  says  Tommie,  "  risk  with  the  Nan 
nie  O  ?  The  Lord  forgive  you,  you  don't  know 
her." 

She  was  beginning  to  pay  off  then,  with  Tom 
mie  at  the  wheel,  and  the  millionnaire  lad  walking 
aft  to  keep  up  the  talk.  He  sings  out,  "  Can  I 
cable  any  message  to  the  other  side  for  you — to 
the  owners,  say,  to  let  them  know  you  are 
coming  ?  " 

"  The  owners — no,"  says  Tommie.  "  But 
hold  on — I  nigh  forgot — you  might  telegraph  my 
wife  and  tell  her  I'm  on  the  way  home." 

"All  right.     What'll  I  say?" 

"  Just  say,"  says  Tommie,  " '  Comin'  home,' 
and  sign  it  '  Tommie.'  Just  *  Comin'  home, 
Tommie,' — just  like  that.  And  send  it  to  Mrs. 
Captain  Tommie  Ohlsen,  Gloucester." 

"  Nothing  more,  Captain  ?  " 

"  Nothing  more,"  says  Tommie. 

"  But  won't  I  say  you're  going  to  hurry  ? 
Maybe  she'd  like  to  know  you're  hurrying." 

"  Good  Lord  !  "  says  Tommie.  "  She'll  know 
that  without  writing  it  down,"  and  he  puts  the 
wheel  down  and  swings  the  Nannie  off,  and  bangs 
her  out  the  harbor. 

So  out  we  goes  and  from  then  on  we  had  it. 
156 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

None  of  you  here  have  been  through  it — that  I 
know — one  of  them  crazy  drivers  of  skippers 
making  a  passage.  Some  of  you,  maybe,  have 
heard  how  they  come  from  the  Banks  that  way, 
six  or  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand  miles,  nothin' 
but  a  high  sea  to  the  lee  quarter  and  a  roarin' 
wake  all  the  way.  Well,  cert'nly  we  had  it  across 
the  Western  Ocean  that  time — four  thousand 
miles,  or  forty-two  hundred  I  think  they  said  it 
was  from  that  Norwegian  port  to  Gloucester. 
Well,  we  had  it — four  thousand  and  odd  mile  of 
sea  rushin'  by,  with  two  men  lashed  to  the  wheel, 
life-lines  out,  and  hatches  battened  most  of  the 
time,  everybody  on  deck  hangin'  on  to  some 
thing,  the  lee  rail  buried  gen'rally  and  once  in  a 
while  her  sheer-poles  going  under.  Day  in  and 
day  out  we  had  it,  the  wind  singin'  through  her 
rigging,  boom-jaws  creaking,  the  planks  in  her 
deck  quiverin',  and  her  mast-heads  strainin'. 
Four  thousand  and  odd  mile  o'  that — it  was 
enough  to  drive  a  man  crazy.  There  was  some 
of  the  gang  took  to  their  bunks  that  passage  just 
to  get  away  from  the  strain  of  it — hauled  the 
blankets  over  their  heads  so's  they  wouldn't  have 
to  listen  to  the  everlastin'  singin'  up  on  deck. 
Yes  sir,  from  her  trucks  to  her  keel  she  was 
groanin'.  But  Tommie  !  —  Lord,  he  enjoyed 
every  foot  of  that  passage.  He'd  stand  on  the 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

quarter  over  by  the  main  rigging,  or  maybe  some 
times  aft  by  the  corner  of  the  house  for  a  change. 
He'd  be  lookin'  for'ard  the  length  of  her  or  over 
the  rail  and  then  up.  "  Lord,"  he'd  say,  "  but 
ain't  she  able,  the  Nannie  !  And  ain't  she  beau- 
ti-ful  ? — she's  cert'nly  an  able  dog,  this  one !  " 
And  he'd  shake  his  head  and  smile  at  whoever 
was  to  the  wheel,  and  if  whoever  was  to  the 
wheel  didn't  say  she  was  beautiful  and  able — if  he 
didn't  speak  right  up  and  say  she  was  the  ablest 
vessel  he  ever  stood  on — and  the  most  beautiful 
— if  he  didn't  speak  right  up,  he'd  get  nothing 
but  black  looks  from  Tommie  for  the  rest  of  his 
watch,  for  Tommie  cert'nly  loved  the  Nannie. 
All  he  studied  that  passage  was  how  to  keep  more 
sail  on  her — he  did  most  of  his  sleeping  in  the 
daytime  so  he  could  watch  her  better  at  night. 
"  It's  at  night  a  fisherman  gains,"  he'd  say. 
"  Any  vessel  at  all  c'n  sail  in  the  daytime,  but  it 
takes  a  fisherman  to  do  her  best  sailin'  at  night." 
And  of  course  that's  so.  Everybody  knows  if 
you  leave  sail  on  your  vessel  all  night  she'll  make 
great  gains  afore  mornin' — that  is,  if  the  other  fel 
low  is  careful  and  takes  some  of  his  off.  The 
way  the  Nannie'd  come  along  in  the  dark — 
ten,  eleven,  and  twelve  knots — it  warn't  noth- 
in*.  Thirteen,  fourteen — yes,  and  fifteen  knots 
it  was  sometimes.  The  Nannie  just  eat  'em  up, 

158 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

and  Tommie  walking  the  deck  all  night  keepin* 
the  sail  to  her  and  watchin'  her.  Whenever  he 
was  ready  to  turn  in — he  slept  about  three  hours 
in  twenty-four  all  the  way  across — the  last  thing 
he'd  say  afore  his  head  went  down  the  cabin 
steps'd  be,  "  Keep  the  sail  on  her  and  call  me  if 
it  moderates."  Most  skippers  I  sailed  with  used 
to  say  afore  they  turned  in  to  call  'em  if  it 
breezed  up,  but  Tommie  used  to  say  to  call  him 
if  it  moderated.  Though  we  wouldn't  need  to 
call  him  even  then.  If  ever  she  stopped  her 
leapin'  for  two  minutes  he  could  feel  the  change 
in  his  sleep.  Her  gettin'  back  on  a  more  even 
keel  used  to  roll  him  away  from  the  lee  corner  of 
his  bunk,  I  s'pose,  and  in  another  minute  he'd  be 
on  deck. 

There  was  an  ungodly  big  stays'l  Tommie  was 
forever  wantin'  to  see  on  the  Nannie,  and  I  mind 
we  must've  been  half-way  across  one  day,  when 
he  took  it  into  his  head  that  the  Nannie'd  look 
perfectly  beautiful  with  that  stays'l  up  there  be 
tween  the  topm'sts.  That  was  the  day  he  put 
her  under  the  nose  of  the  big  liner.  Wait  till  I 
tell  you  about  the  liner.  "  Here's  one  of  them 
English  liners  comin',  and  I  know  they'll  be 
watching  us,"  Tommie  said  when  he  first  sighted 
her,  "  and  we  might's  well  show  'em  how  an 
American  vessel  c'n  sail."  So  up  goes  the  stays'l. 

'59 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

From  her  trucks  half-way  to  the  deck  it  came, 
and  it  about  filled  all  the  space  fore  and  aft  be 
tween  the  masts.  The  whole  crew  had  to  bear  on 
the  after  sheet  to  get  it  flat  enough  to  suit  Tom 
mie,  and  then,  when  we  couldn't  do  any  more 
with  it  by  straight  fore-and-aft  haulin',  he  has  us 
run  a  piece  of  line  up  and  down  from  a  ring  bolt 
under  her  rail  to  across  the  sheet,  and  we  all 
swayed  on  that  again.  You  wouldn't  think  a 
man  in  mid-ocean  would  bother  with  the  fine 
points  o'  sailin',  especially  when  there  was  plenty 
wind  as  it  was.  But  Tommie  did,  and  you'd 
better  believe  that  sheet  was  some  flat  when  we 
got  through  with  it.  Tommie  looks  for'ard — the 
Nannie  was  most  buryin'  herself  afore  he  put  the 
stays'l  on  her  at  all, — but  with  the  stays'l  on  her, 
why,  she  was  sailin'  pretty  much  on  her  side. 
"  My  soul,  Skipper !  "  says  Albert  Frazer  to  the 
wheel  with  me — both  of  us  fast  to  the  wheel,  me 
to  the  wind'ard  and  with  a  line  to  the  starboard 
bitt,  and  him  to  looard  with  a  line  to  the  port 
bitt — "  My  soul,  Skipper  !  if  that  don't  take  the 
spars  out  of  her  it'll  cert'nly  throw  her  down/* 
says  Albert.  "  Hush,  boy,"  says  Tommie, 
"hush,  boy — not  the  Nannie."  And  he  looks 
aloft.  "  But  she  do  look  beau-ti-ful  with  that 
stays'l,  don't  she  ?  "  And  he  looks  aloft  again, 
and  then  ahead  to  the  liner.  "  And  here's  the 

1 60 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

liner  comin'.  I'll  bet  they're  sayin'  aboard  her 
now,  l  By  the  Lord,  but  there's  an  able  vessel ! ' 
and  pointing  their  glasses  at  us,  I'll  bet,  and 
wonderin'  who  we  are."  He'd  hardly  got  that 
out,  standin'  back  by  the  corner  of  the  house  just 
the  other  side  of  me,  when  qu-r-r — and  the  Nan 
nie  shivered.  Qu-r-r — it  came  again  and  she 
takes  a  lurch,  and  over  on  her  side  she  went. 
The  three  of  us  aft,  the  Skipper,  Albert,  and  my 
self,  was  taken  off  our  feet.  Me  and  Albert 
being  lashed,  was  all  right — we  stayed  aboard.  I 
was  slammed  over  the  wheel-box,  and  Albert  into 
the  lee  scuppers,  but  the  Skipper,  not  bein' 
lashed  to  anything,  he  goes  over  the  rail.  I 
didn't  see  him  goin',  bein'  almost  drowned  my 
self,  but  when  I  looked  up  he  was  gone.  I  hol 
lers,  and  in  a  second  Albert  hollers  back.  "  All 
right,"  he  says,  and  there  he  was  with  just  a  hold 
of  the  Skipper's  wrist,  and  the  Skipper  ahold  of 
the  rail,  but  bein'  dragged  under  the  Nannie's 
overhang.  'Twas  nothing  but  his  awful  grip 
saved  him.  The  fingers  of  one  hand  hung  onto  the 
rail  all  the  time.  That  awful  strength  in  them 
wrists  and  fingers  of  his  saved  him.  Did  I  tell 
you  how  he  could  part  a  buoy-line  pulling  by 
one  finger  ?  Yes  ?  Well,  he  climbs  aboard.  "  By 
the  Lord,"  says  he,  "  but  there's  the  devil's  own 
suction  under  that  overhang."  And  that's  all  the 

161 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

thought  he  gives  it.  We  was  worryin'  then  about 
the  Nannie — afraid  she  was  goin'  to  roll  clean 
over,  and  stay  over  maybe — but  no.  Just  as  the 
Skipper  climbs  back  over  the  rail  she  stops  rollin* 
down,  and  the  Skipper,  grabbin'  the  wheel  quick, 
she  begins  to  come  up  fine.  She  was  all  right 
again  in  about  two  minutes,  but  her  rails  was  hardly 
beginnin'  to  show  signs  of  raisin'  again  afore  the 
Skipper  begins  to  talk  again.  "  Quite  a  squall 
that,  Skipper,"  I  says.  "  Squall  ?  'Twasn't  a 
squall  did  that,  Peter.  An  unlucky  sea,  an  un 
lucky  sea,  Peter."  He  wouldn't  give  in,  d'y'see, 
that  them  sails  was  too  much  for  the  Nannie. 
"  If  'twas  any  other  vessel,"  he  goes  on,  "  she'd 
been  hove  down  altogether.  Shoot  her  under  the 
bow  of  that  liner — give  her  a  full  now  !  "  he  says, 
"  and  let's  see  what  she'll  do.  Let  her  swing 
now ! "  he  says,  "  and  let's  see  what  she'll  do. 
By  the  Lord,  but  she's  an  able  dog — any  other 
vessel  and  her  spars'd  been  floating  out  on  the 
water  now — maybe  her  keel  up.  Yes,  sir,  any 
other  vessel.  Do  you  and  Albert  let  her  have 
it  now,  Peter." 

Well,  we  let  her  have  it  again,  and  Lord ! 
but  the  wind  roared  into  her.  Wh-sh — it  went, 
and  wh-sh-sh — it  went — and  then  wh-sh-sh  and 
wh-r-r-up  it  went  all  at  once,  and  away  went 
that  ungodly  stays'l.  "  Thank  the  Lord !  " 

162 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

says  Albert.  "Amen,"  says  I — but  behind  the 
Skipper's  back  both  of  us,  you  better  b'lieve. 
The  Skipper  looks  up  after  the  stays'l  floatin' 
half  way  up  to  the  sky  and  eyes  it  sad-like. 
"  By  the  Lord,"  he  says,  "  but  the  firm  ought 
to  change  their  sail-maker.  Ain't  it  a  shame  ?  " 
he  says,  "  and  we  were  goin'  along  so  fine,  too 
— and  strangers  lookin'  at  her."  And  turning 
to  us  at  the  wheel,  "  Well,  we  got  to  make  the 
best  of  it,  I  s'pose ;  watch  this  fellow  ahead 
now,  and  when  I  sing  out,  put  the  wheel  up 
and  shoot  the  Nannie  under  her  nose."  And 
under  the  very  nose  of  her  we  sent  the  Nannie 
flyin'.  Not  much  closer  could  we  get  without 
us  or  her  gettin'  in  trouble — most  likely  us. 

They  crowds  for'ard  on  the  liner  to  get  a  look 
at  us.  I  know  we  must've  been  a  sight  for 
what  few  passengers  was  peekin'  down  on  us 
over  the  rail.  Albert  and  me  to  the  wheel  was 
buried  to  our  waists,  and  the  skipper  hangin'  on 
to  the  main  riggin' — on  the  lee  riggin'  so's  to  be 
nearer  the  liner — standin'  to  his  knees  in  the 
wash  comin'  over  the  rail.  On  the  bridge  of  the 
liner  one  of  the  officers  holds  up  a  megaphone 
and  points  it  down  on  Tommie.  "  Lucky  for 
you  that  sail  blew  out,  Captain,"  he  hollers. 
"  Lucky  hell,"  hollers  back  Tommie — Tommie 
didn't  need  any  megaphone.  "That  stays'l 

163 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

never  blew  out.  'Twas  the  halyards  slipped  and 
we  turned  it  loose.  That  stays'l ! — Good  Lord  ! 
this  one'd  carry  four  stays'ls  if  there  was  spars 
enough  to  hang  em'  on  to."  And  you  oughter 
seen  the  lads  on  the  bridge  poke  their  eyes  at 
him.  "  Yes,"  says  Tommie,  lookin*  back — we 
was  leapin'  past  her  quarter  then — "yes,"  says 
Tommie,  "look  at  us.  Look,  you  fish-eyed 
son  of  a  rock-lobster,  look.  You're  600  and  odd 
feet  long,  and  eight  times  'round  your  house  is  a 
mile,  and  you  think  you're  the  only  thing  that 
sails  the  sea.  Three  stacks  and  two  screws,  and 
you're  thinkin'  you  could  take  us  aboard  and 
not  so  much  as  crowd  the  saloon-passengers  on 
the  promenade-deck.  And  so  you  could,  and 
your  bridge  is  as  high  as  our  mast-head,  but  by 
the  Lord  !  the  Nannie  don't  need  any  steam-gear 
to  get  her  home,  and  she'll  carry  her  four  lowers 
when  you're  rollin'  runnels  under."  And  he 
shook  his  fist  back  at  the  liner.  "  Lucky  we 
lost  our  stays'l,  is  it  ?  "  And  for  an  hour  after 
ward  you  could  hear  him  sputterin',  "  Lucky  for 
the  Nannie  the  stays'l  blew  out,  was  it  ?  Lucky 
for  this  one,  was  it  ?  "  The  sparks  kept  comin' 
out  of  him  for  an  hour  after  the  lad  on  the 
bridge  of  the  liner  had  spoke  his  piece  about  the 
Nannie  and  her  stays'l. 

And  that's  the  way  we  came  drivin'  across  the 
164 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

Western  Ocean  that  passage.  Never  less  than 
four  lowers,  no  matter  how  it  blowed,  but  more 
gen'rally  with  both  tops'ls  and  sometimes  with 
the  big  balloon.  The  skipper,  he'd  be  standin' 
on  the  quarter  or  aft,  as  I  said,  with  one  eye 
aloft  like  a  gimlet  all  the  time,  to  see  how  the 
Nannie's  spars  was  standin'  it.  The  other  eye'd 
be  ahead  watchin'  for  I  don't  know  what,  unless 
it  was  a  sight  of  the  Valkyrie,  though  if  ever  he 
really  expected  to  get  a  sight  of  her  I  can't  say, 
for  once  we  was  clear  of  that  Norwegian  port, 
from  one  end  of  the  passage  to  the  other,  I  never 
heard  him  say  one  word  about  her.  There  was 
something  else  on  his  mind,  I  don't  know  what. 
All  it  was  'd  be  a  look  to  the  chart  every  noon 
after  he'd  take  a  sight — that's  whenever  the  sun'd 
be  out,  which  it  warn't  more'n  half  the  time — a 
look  at  the  log  and  the  compass  to  check  up,  and 
then,  "  So  many  days  out  and  we're  so  far.  A 
fair  average  now,  and  we'll  be  home  in  so  many 
days  " — him  figuring  it  up  on  the  slate  that  he'd 
bring  up  out  the  cabin  and  lay  on  top  the  house, 
when  it  warn't  too  wet  outside. 

When  he  started  out  he  didn't  expect  to  make 
the  passage  in  less  than  three  weeks.  I  heard 
him  say  that  myself.  He  never  looked  at  that 
time  of  the  year  for  a  better  chance  than  that. 
And  three  weeks  is  good  sailin',  let  me  tell  you, 

165 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

for  that  distance  with  everyday  luck  in  the  way 
o'  wind.  If  it  had  been  in  winter  now  he'd  nach'- 
rally  count  on  plenty  o'  wind  all  the  way  over, 
but  it  was  too  much  luck  to  expect  it  this  time. 
But  we  did  get  it,  and  the  Nannie  kept  a-goin', 
and  the  average  kept  a-raisin.'  When  we  started 
out  I  remembered  he  said  200  miles  a  day 
wouldn't  be  bad,  but  toward  the  end  of  it,  seein' 
himself  goin'  along  so  fine,  he  begins  to  get  ner 
vous.  "  This  fine  breeze'll  die  out,"  he  began 
to  say  when  we  was  beginnin'  to  near  this  side, 
"  this  fine  breeze'll  die  out  and  maybe  we  won't 
make  such  a  fine  passage  after  all." 

He  comes  up  on  deck  one  day  with  a  book  of 
all  kinds  of  sporting-records  along  with  his  sex 
tant,  and  says,  "  Ever  since  my  first  trip  on  the 
Nannie  O,  and  I  found  she  was  a  devil  to  sail, 
it's  been  deep  in  my  heart  to  break  all  the  best 
of  those  Atlantic  records  if  ever  I  got  a  chance, 
and  now  I've  got  a  chance — and  a  reason.  Yes, 
by  the  Lord,  a  reason."  None  of  us  knew  what 
he  meant  by  a  reason,  unless  it  was  beatin'  the 
Valkyrie,  which  he  seemed  to've  forgotten  all 
about,  or  beatin'  the  clipper-ship  record,  which 
he'd  only  seemed  to  just  bring  up.  However, 
he  goes  on  to  read  from  the  sporting-almanac. 
"  From  New  York  to  Queenstown  the  sailin'- 
record  for  yachts  is  twelve  days  and  nine  hours. 

166 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

How  much  would  that  be  from  Norway  to 
Gloucester?  Figure  it  out  some  of  you."  So 
we  brings  the  chart  up  on  deck  and  spreads  it 
out  on  the  house,  a  man  to  each  corner  to  hold 
it  down,  and  logged  it  off  with  a  pair  of  dividers. 
"  Call  it  2,850  miles  from  New  York  to  Queens- 
town,"  we  says,  "  and  4,200  miles  from  Norway 
to  Gloucester.  That'd  be  over  eighteen  days  for 
our  passage,"  we  says. 

"  If  this  breeze  holds  out  I'm  sure  we'll  beat 
that,"  says  Tommie,  "  but  here's  a  better  one," 
and  he  reads  out  of  the  book  of  records  again. 
"  Here's  a  dog  of  a  record.  Here's  a  sailin'- 
record — an  old  clipper-ship  record  I  callate  that 
must  be — from  Liverpool  to  Boston — the  west 
ern  passage — twelve  days  and  six  hours.  That's 
sailin'  for  you,  that's  sailin'.  Some  of  those  old 
clippers  were  dogs,  warn't  they  ?  They  cert'nly 
was.  Now  twelve  days  and  six  hours  from  Liv 
erpool  to  Boston — chart  the  distance — that'll  be 
how  long  for  our  passage  ?  "  We  figures  it  out 
on  the  slate  and  tells  him — seventeen  days  as 
near  as  we  could  figure  it.  "  Seventeen  days  is 
it  ?  "  he  says.  "  By  the  Lord,  we'll  beat  that  a 
day  and  that'll  be  sailin' — sixteen  days.  Let's 
see  now.  We're  fourteen  days  to  here  this  noon. 
Call  it  noon,  anyway — only  a  few  minutes  now 
to  twelve  o'clock.  I'll  take  a  sight  and  see  where 

I67 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

we  are.  And  d'y'  know,  but  I  wouldn't  be  sur 
prised,  but  if  this  breeze  hold's  out,  we'll  give 
that  clipper-ship  record  a  good  beatin'  ?  " 

"But,  Skipper,  she  was  a  i,5OO-ton  square- 
rigger,"  speaks  up  somebody  ;  "  a  big  brute  of  a 
square-rigger." 

"What's  the  odds  if  she  was  I5,ooo-ton,  and 
rigged  triangular,  so  long's  we  beat  her  ? "  says 
Tommie. 

"In  this  little  one — a  i2O-ton?"  says  the 
growlin'  lad  again. 

"  Yes,  in  this  little  one,  if  she  was  but  twenty 
ton  without  the  hundred,  what  difference  does  it 
make  so  she  sails,  and  let  me  tell  you  she  ain't 
too  little  to  dare,"  says  Tommie,  begin nin'  to 
get  mad,  and  nobody  said  any  more  about  that. 

He  takes  a  sight,  and  finds  that  we  was  in 
44.30  latitude  and  56  longitude  then.  That 
put  us  half  way  between  the  Grand  Banks  and 
Quero,  somewheres  to  the  southerly  edge  of 
Saint  Peer  Bank — and  our  soundings  showed  it, 
too.  About  650  miles — that's  sea  miles — from 
home  then,  and  fourteen  days  out. 

"  Six  hundred  and  fifty  miles  and  forty-eight 
hours  to  go.  She'll  make  it,"  says  Tommie, 
"  the  Nannie'll  make  it.  Let  this  breeze  hold 
out  and  we'll  make  her  make  it.  All  hands 
come  aft  now  and  listen  to  me.  Split  yourselves 

1 68 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

into  two  gangs  and  stand  by  from  now  on  to 
trim  sheets  night  and  day.  No  more  card-play- 
in'  for'ard,  no  more  poker,  nor  forty-fives,  nor 
whist,  nor  no  more  takin'  it  easy  in  your  bunks 
when  you're  not  on  watch.  From  this  out  no 
more  sleep  for  any  body  aboard  this  one — not 
until  we  get  into  Gloucester.  And  if  there's 
anybody  ain't  in  oilskins  he'd  better  get  into 
them,  for  it's  wet  decks  and  everybody  standin' 
by  from  now  on.  No  more  sail  comes  down 
unless  it  blows  down.  There's  your  orders  if 
I'm  not  on  deck  any  time,"  he  says,  and  looks 
around  to  make  sure  everybody  heard  him. 
"  Sway  up,"  he  says,  and  we  begins  to  sway  up. 
Everybody  heaves  away  on  the  halyards,  and 
when  we  couldn't  pull  in  another  inch,  when 
everything  was  flat  as  boards,  he  goes  around 
deck  and  takes  an  extra  half-hitch  to  every  hal 
yard.  "  Now  they  won't  slip,"  he  says,  and 
there  was  the  divil  in  his  eye. 

That  night  in  a  thick  o'  fog  we  ran  by  Sable 
Island.  We  must've  gone  pretty  close  to  the 
no'the-east  bar  because  one  time  we  found  our 
selves  in  twenty  fathom  of  water.  That  sound- 
in'  worried  some  of  us,  but  not  the  Skipper. 
"  Will  we  hold  her  up,"  we  says.  "  Blessed 
Lord,  no,"  he  says,  "  keep  her  goin'.  Straight 
courses  makes  short  passages.  If  we  go  seesaw- 

169 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

ing  all  over  the  ocean,  there's  no  telling'  when 
we'll  get  home.  Twenty  fathom,"  he  says. 
"  And  we  drawin'  only  fifteen  feet  three  or  four. 
Keep  her  goin'."  And  we  kept  her  goin',  lis 
tening  for  the  surf  because  we  knew  we'd  never 
see  the  light  in  that  fog.  Straight  to  the  west'- 
ard  we  druv  her,  and  some  time  afore  mornin'  it 
must've  been  we  went  by  the  no'the-west  bar, 
because  at  daybreak  we  could  make  out  a  surf 
under  our  lee  quarter,  and  that  couldn't  be  any 
thing  but  the  no'the-west  bar. 

From  there — the  no'the-west  bar — we  got  the 
fairest  kind  of  a  slant.  "  Wing  her  out  for  Cape 
Sable,"  says  Tommie.  And  we  wung  her  out, 
and  down  the  Cape  shore  she  flew,  with  the  ten 
dories  in  her  waist  as  good's  a  stuns'l  to  her.  It 
came  thick  o'  fog  again  and  all  the  way  along  the 
Nannie  was  goin'  it  blind.  Drivin'  by  the  no'- 
therly  edge  of  La  Have  we  thought  we  might 
fall  foul  o'  somebody,  but  not  a  smell  of  a  sail 
did  we  get  till  we  almost  ran  into  a  three-masted 
schooner  layin'  to  anchor  just  to  the  east'ard  of 
Cape  Sable.  Layin'  to  an  anchor  she  was,  mind 
you,  and  we  swingin'  both  tops'ls.  We  was 
comin'  along,  all  foam  and  smoke  then,  and 
couldn't  see  the  length  of  the  vessel,  when  all  at 
once  we  heard  voices  and  then  almost  under  our 
bowsprit  was  this  big  three-master.  We  whipped 

170 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

the  Nannie  clear  just  in  time  to  save  her — or 
maybe  to  save  both  of  us,  I  don't  know  how. 
I  only  know  we  was  close  enough  to  brush  her 
paint  as  we  went  wingin'  by — and  then  we  heard 
the  voice  sayin' — you  know,  some  of  you,  how 
you  c'n  hear  a  voice  sometimes  in  the  fog  when 
you  can't  see  anybody — the  voice  said,  "  I'll  be 
dinged  if  I  didn't  just  thought  I  saw  a  little  two- 
masted  schooner  goin'  by  with  everything  on." 

"  Everything  on  ? "  said  another  voice — "  in 
this  breeze  ? "  and  we  could  hear  him  laugh — 
"  saw  a  ghost,  I  guess." 

Tommie  was  listening  to  it.  "  A  ghost  ?  "  he 
says.  "  By  the  Lord,  if  this  one'd  go  into  you, 
head  on,  you  wouldn't  think  it  was  any  ghost — 
if  ever  she  hit  you,  head  on.  A  ghost?  Huh, 
if  that  ain't  a  coasterman  all  over.  'Cause  they 
can't  carry  sail  themselves  they  don't  think  any 
body  else  can.  Have  an  ear  out  for  the  whistle 
now,  boys,  for  we're  pretty  close  in-shore,  I  think." 

It  was  the  Cape  Sable  whistling-buoy  he 
meant,  but  we  didn't  have  to  listen  for  the 
whistle  because  the  fog  lifted  not  long  after  we 
passed  the  coaster  to  an  anchor,  and  the  light 
house  itself  stood  out  clear  enough.  At  five 
o'clock,  or  maybe  a  little  later  in  the  afternoon, 
we  came  tearin'  up  abreast  of  it  and  then  we 
straightened  her  out  for  home.  "  The  home-leg, 

171 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

boys,"  says  Tommie,  "west,  half  no'the,  and 
drive  her — drive  her,  drive — by  the  Lord,  DRIVE 
HER  ! "  He  snaps  his  big  arm  across  his  body 
like  he  was  tryin'  to  snap  a  whip.  Man,  man, 
but  she  went  along !  That  was  a  run  that  one, 
from  Cape  Sable  to  Gloucester  on  the  Nannie 
that  time.  Two  hundred  and  twenty-five  mile, 
sea-mile  of  course,  they  call  it,  and  the  Nannie 
made  it  in  something  over  fourteen  hours.  'Twas 
nothin*  but  the  air  full  o'  mist  from  the  foam 
under  her  rail.  Man,  but  she  did  lay  down  to 
it.  She  fair  smoked.  "  The  Nannie  always 
could  sail  on  her  side,"  said  Tommie,  watchin'  her 
— "  always  could."  There  was  a  big  coaster  run- 
nin'  out  from  the  Bay  of  Fundy  just  afore  dark. 
She  was  under  two  jibs  and  reefed  fores'l — just 
wallerin*  she  was.  "  What  you  doin*  out  in  a  day 
like  this  ?  "  hollers  Tommie.  The  nearer  Tom 
mie  was  gettin'  to  home  the  more  playful  he  was 
gettin'.  They  looks  over  the  rail  at  us  again  and 
one  of  'em  hollers  as  we  went  swingin'  by.  "  Go 
it,  you  crazy  Gloucester  fishermen.  Keep  on 
and  you'll  find  bottom  some  day,"  but  Tommie 
only  laughed  at  him.  That  was  just  afore  dark. 

Early  in  the  morning,  when  we  could  almost 
smell  Cape  Ann,  we  overhauled  a  tramp-steamer. 
She  was  pluggin'  along  about  nine  or  ten  knots  an 
hour,  I  should  say.  There  was  a  grouchy-lopkin', 

172 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

bushy-whiskered  fellow  on  her  bridge,  duckin* 
his  head  to  the  breeze  and  the  rain.  We  went 
by  him  like  he  was  goin'  the  other  way.  "  Any 
message  ?  "  says  Tommie,  and  he  leaned  back  in- 
terested-like  to  get  the  answer.  "  Any  mes 
sage  ?  "  says  Tommie — "  we're  goin'  home." 

"  Goin'  to  hell,  more  likely,"  says  the  fellow 
on  the  bridge. 

"  Not  in  the  Nannie  O,"  laughs  Tommie, 
"  but  if  we  was  we'd  report  you  comin',"  and  he 
laughs  again. 

He  was  all  jokes  en  that  home-stretch,  but  it 
was  desp'rate,  just  the  same,  the  way  he  druv  her. 
"  We'll  make  it,  we'll  make  it — sixteen  days," 
he  kept  sayin'  all  the  way  along.  He'd  never  so 
much  as  winked  an  eye,  mind  you,  from  the  time 
he  first  took  the  extra  half-hitches  the  other  side 
of  Quero,  and  he  was  watchin'  out  now  like  two 
men.  He  was  the  first  man  to  raise  the  lights  on 
Thatcher's.  There  was  two  others  to  the  mast 
head  with  him,  but  the  others  said  afterward  that 
he  made  out  the  lights  ten  minutes  afore  they 
did,  and,  leanin'  against  the  back-stay,  he  looked 
his  fill.  For  five  minutes  he  didn't  look  away, 
and,  comin'  slidin'  down  to  deck,  he  said,  "We're 
most  home,  most  home,"  he  said ;  that  was  all, 
but  oh,  his  eyes,  and  the  way  he  said  it ! 

The  rocks  of  old  Cape  Ann  hove  in  sight,  and 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

then,  rounding  Eastern  Point,  Tommie  took  the 
wheel  himself.  "  We'll  surprise  'em,"  he  says, 
and  druv  her  into  the  harbor  as  if  she  had  an 
other  4,000  miles  to  go  and  not  a  minute  to  lose. 
It  was  whing — bang — past  the  whistling-buoy,  a 
leg  across  and  a  leg  back.  Even  in  the  inner 
harbor  the  way  he  held  her  nose  to  it  was  a 
scandal.  "  Might's  well  keep  her  goin',"  he 
says,  and  he  lashes  her  like  a  race-horse  clear  up 
to  her  berth  off  the  owner's  dock  —  the  same 
berth  you  c'n  see  him  to  now  if  you  look.  But 
the  way  he  came  in  just  now  ain't  nothin*  to  it. 
Whing — bang — it  was — in  with  tops'ls,  down 
with  jibs,  let  go  anchor,  down  with  fores'l,  let  the 
mains'l  stand — "And  there  she  is,"  says  Tom 
mie,  "  the  able  Nannie  O,  with  the  fastest  4,000 
and  a  couple  o'  hundred  mile  ever  charged  to  a 
vessel  across  the  Western  Ocean.  What  time  by 
the  Gloucester  clock  for'ard  ?  "  The  clock  in 
the  fo'c's'le'd  been  set  to  Gloucester  time  and 
never  changed  since  we  left  home,  and  that's 
what  he  meant  when  he  asked  the  time  by  the 
Gloucester  clock. 

"  Half-past  seven,"  came  the  answer. 

"  Half-past  seven — nigh  five  hours  yet  to  six 
teen  days — and  that's  sailin* !  " 

Man,  but  his  eyes  were  shinin'.  "  We'll  go 
ashore  now,"  he  says,  "  and  get  the  news."  And 


Tommle  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

we  goes  ashore.  He  was  for  hurryin'  off  himself, 
but  we  asked  him  to  inquire  about  the  Valkyrie 
— seem'  we  made  such  a  drive  of  it  we  wanted  a 
little  satisfaction,  and  so  he  inquires,  "  Any  word 
of  that  English  yacht,  that  Valkyrie  that's  comin' 
over  to  race  for  the  America's  cup,"  he  asks. 

Not  in  yet,  they  told  him,  but  she'd  been  re 
ported  by  one  or  two  Cunarders  and  some  other 
fast  liners.  And  they  tells  him  how  this  steamer 
and  that  steamer  reported  her.  Accordin'  to  one 
of  'em  she  was  hove-to — in  longitude  so-and-so 
and  latitude  so-and-so,  they  said — I  forget  now 
just  what. 

"  What  day  was  that,"  asks  Tommie,  and  they 
reckons  it  up  and  tells  him. 

"  Hove-to  that  day  !  "  says  Tommie.  "  Why, 
man,  that  Nannie  carried  both  tops'ls  that  day. 
What  else?" 

And  they  tells  him  on  such-and-such  a  day  she 
was  reported  by  another  steamer  in  longitude  so- 
and-so  and  latitude  so-and  so,  and  makin'  heavy 
weather  of  it. 

Tommie  reckons  that  up.  "  Why,"  says  he, 
"  that  must  Ve  been  the  day  afore  we  blew  out 
that  rotten  stays'l.  That  day  !  why,  that  day 
we  had  the  stays'l  and  balloon  both  on  her. 
That  day  !  why,  that  day  the  gang  was  playin* 
draw  down  for'ard,  and  I  mind  some  of  em' 

'75 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

sayin',  when  we  was  eatin'  dinner,  how  it  was  the 
first  day  in  a  week  they  didn't  have  to  put 
weights  on  the  silver  pieces  to  keep  them  from 
hoppin'  off  the  table.  Good  Lord  !  "  says  Tom 
mie,  "  but  there's  none  of  'em  fit  to  carry  ice  for 
the  Nannie — she's  cert'nly  an  able  vessel.  But 
I  must  be  gettin'  along  home,"  and  he  goes  up 
the  street  at  a  fourteen-knot  clip. 

That  was  all  well  and  good.  The  Valkyrie 
got  in  a  week  later,  though  Tommie  warn't  pay- 
in'  any  more  attention  to  her,  by  that  time,  than 
if  he'd  never  heard  of  her.  There  was  a  new 
baby  up  to  his  house,  and  he  was  taken  up  with 
that.  But  the  millionnaire  lad,  when  he  heard 
of  it,  was  tickled  to  death,  they  say,  and  soon's 
he  got  over  on  this  side,  in  the  fall,  he  comes  in 
to  Gloucester  to  see  Tommie,  and  he  gave  him 
the  finest 

"  Peter,  Peter,"  interrupted  the  one  volunteer 
look-out  who  had  not  abandoned  his  post,  "  ain't 
this  the  Nannie's  captain  comin'  up  the  dock  ? 
Ain't  this  Tommie  Ohlsen  himself?  "  The  in 
quirer's  voice  was  suppressed  with  excitement. 

"  Ha  ? "  exclaimed  Peter,  hopping  for  the 
port-hole — "a  stout,  round  man,  but  not  fat — 
an  able-looking  man — lemme  see.  Yes,  that's 
him.  That's  Tommie  himself.  Wait  a  minute 
till  I  hail  him.  Maybe  he'll  come  up,  and  then 

176 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

you  c'n  get  a  good  look  at  an  able  seaman.  And 
maybe  he'll  tell  us  about  this  last  trip — I'll  bet 

he  druv  her.     Hi "     Peter  threw  back  the 

hatches  on  the  seaward  side  of  Crow's  Nest. 
"  Hi-i — Captain  Ohl-sen — Good  Lord,  but  what 
a  breeze — he'll  never  hear  me — hi-i — Cap-tain 
Ohl-sen—" 

"  Hi — "  came  back  from  the  man  below. 
"  Hi,  Peter— that  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.     What  kind  of  a  trip  did  you  have  ?  " 

"  Ha  ?  "  called  back  the  voice. 

"  What — kind — of —  a  —  trip — did  —  you  — 
have  ?  " 

"What?" 

"  What — kind — of — a — trip — oh,  I  can't  make 
you  hear  in  this  gale.  Won't  you  come  up, 
Captain  ? "  Peter  motioned  with  his  arm,  the 
man  below  waved  back,  and  Peter  drew  in  his 
head  and  hauled  the  hatches  to  again.  "  He'll 
be  here  now  in  a  minute.  Get  off  the  locker  two 
or  three  of  you  loafers  in  case  Tommie'd  like  to 
sit  down  for  a  minute.  Maybe  he'll  stop  long 
enough  to  tell  us  about  his  last  passage — he 
must've  come  home  flyin'.  Here  he  comes. 
Hear  him  comin'  up  the  stairs  ?  Climbs  to  the 
mast-head  like  that.  Can't  you  imagine  him 
puttin'  his  feet  down,  every  step  a  ratline  and  a 
swing  from  one  side  to  the  other.  Hush." 

177 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

From  below  the  level  of  the  top  step  of  the 
flight  of  stairs  leading  into  the  room,  he  came 
gradually  into  view — head,  shoulders,  body,  and 
legs  successively  appeared.  When  he  was  all  up 
and  inside  he  fitted  admirably  the  picture  drawn 
of  him  by  Peter — round  head,  round  neck,  round 
body,  round  legs,  round  all  over,  but  not  a  pound 
of  fat,  eyes  deep-set  and  very  blue,  jaw  salient, 
skin  red-tanned.  Master  mariner  he  was,  master 
mariner  he  looked,  and  once  he  stepped  within 
the  room  the  loungers  of  Crow's  Nest  paid  him 
that  which  was  their  rarest  homage — a  deferential 
silence. 

In  two  glances  he  took  in  the  room.  One  swept 
the  walls — the  charts,  glasses,  sporting-prints,  and 
models  of  vessels  hung  or  tacked  thereto ;  the 
second — a  return  glance — measured  up  the  crowd. 

"  I  don't  see  that  last  T  Wharf  flyer  here, 
Peter — the  one  they  tell  me's  been  raisin'  the 
devil  with  the  Georges  fleet.  And  some  of  the 
old  faces  gone,  too,  Peter.  Gone  to  work? 
Which  ?  No  ?  Lord,  Lord,  but  queer  things 
happens.  Well,  forty  thousand  halibut,  ten 
thousand  cod,  and  five  thousand  or  so  mixed — 
haddock,  hake,  and  one  thing  and  another.  No, 
boy,  no,  keep  your  seat — I'll  be  goin'  along  in  a 
minute.  What's  new,  Peter  ?  " 

"  Nothing  much.  Forty  thousand  halibut,  ten 
178 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

thousand — let  me  put  that  down  afore  I  forget  it. 
There.  What  kind  of  weather'd  you  have,  Cap 
tain  ?  " 

"  Oh,  moderate.  A  beat  out  most  the  way, 
but  a  fair  wind  back." 

"  Must've  been  fair  comin'  home,  Captain, 
an'  plenty  of  it.  Wallie  Manning  reported  you 
not  goin'  to  leave  till  Saturday  night,  and  only 
Tuesday  mornin'  now." 

"  That's  right — fair  as  a  man  could  ask  comin' 
home.  Seven  hundred  and  fifty  mile  to  the 
east'ard  when  we  swung  her  off  an'  raised 
Thatcher's  in  fifty-nine  hours — not  bad  that  now, 
was  it?" 

"  Lord,  but  that's  great  goin',  Captain.  And 
they  say  she  ain't  in  her  best  trim  now,  Captain  ? 
But  she  must've  come  right  along  ?  " 

"  Y'oughter  seen  her,  Peter.  Lord,  Peter, 
there's  no  stoppin'  the  Nannie  once  she  starts  to 
come.  She's  a  credit  to  the  people  that  built 
her — that  vessel." 

"  Blowin'  much  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  real  heavy.  She  carried  both 
tops'ls  all  the  way." 

"  Is  that  so  ? — thought  I  saw  you  comin'  in 
with  'em — swung  up  both  clear  past  the  Point  ?  " 

"  Till  we  threw  her  into  the  wind  and  let  go 
our  anchor." 

179 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

"  But  Wallie  said  he  most  got  hove-down 
comin'  across  the  Bay  of  Fundy." 

"  Did,  eh  ?  But  what  can  you  expect  in  a 
breeze  with  that  one  he's  got.  She  c'n  drift 
'bout's  fast  as  any  vessel  I  know — she  ain't  half 
bad  in  a  light  breeze — no,  I  don't  callate  there's 
too  many  of  'em  c'n  get  away  with  her  in  one  of 
them  palm-leaf  zephyrs.  But  what'd  Wallie 
have  to  say  ? — he  gen'rally  carries  home  a  bit  of 
gossip." 

"  Oh,  nuthin'  much,  except  to  report  you  and 
two  or  three  others.  He  says  he  did  ketch  the 
divil  comin'  across  the  Bay  o'  Fundy,  though." 

"  Did  he  ? — comin'  across  the  Bay  of  Fundy, 
eh  ?  That'd  be — when'd  you  say  he  got  in  ? 
Yesterday  noon  ?  That'd  be  about  the  night  be 
fore  last  when  he  most  got  hove  down,  wouldn't 
it?  Let  me  see  now — where  was  the  Nannie 
then  ?  Night  before  last — Sunday — .  Comin' 
across  Western  Bank  we  was  then — yes.  Some- 
where's  to  the  south' ard  of  Sable  Island  we  was. 
Blowin'  hard  where  he  was,  did  he  say  ?  Well, 
where  we  was  there  was  just  wind  enough  to  wet 
the  Nannie's  rail.  Well,  to  be  fair,  maybe  we  was 
takin'  a  bucket  or  two  on  deck  now  and  again. 
Of  course  the  vessels  makes  a  difference.  When 
the  Nannie'd  be  just  dippin'  her  rail  the  Cleo- 
patra'd  be  about  hove  down,  wouldn't  she  ?  Yes. 

1 80 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

But  any  word  of  George  Hawley,  Peter?  No? 
Well,  I  didn't  think  there  would  be.  Another 
good  old  wagon  that  one  he's  got — the  Sea- Horse. 
Where  d'y's'pose  he  ever  got  the  name?  It 
must've  been  about  three  o'clock  Sunday  after 
noon  that  he  came  wallerin*  along  bound  to  the 
west'ard.  He  said  somethin'  about  the  Nannie 
an'  the  Sea-Horse,  and  I  asked  him  wouldn't  he 
wait  and  I'd  put  the  dories  right  out  an'  haul  the 
trawls.  *  I  can't  leave  them  ten  skates  o'  gear 
out  there,  you  know,  George — can't  you  wait  a 
little  while  ? '  I  says.  *  No,'  says  George,  f  this 
one's  got  the  bit  in  his  teeth ' — talks  like  that  on 
account  of  the  name,  I  s'pose.  e  Got  the  bit  be 
tween  his  teeth,'  says  George,  c  but  I'll  report 
you.'  '  Will  you  ? '  says  I.  '  You're  good- 
natured  as  hell,  but  I  callate  the  Nannie'll  do  her 
own  reportin'  this  trip.'  '  Yes  ? '  he  says — like 
that — *  yes-s  ? '  like  that.  '  Yes,'  I  says,  '  the 
Nannie'll  report  herself  this  trip,  and  if  there's 
one  vessel  the  Nannie  beats  home  this  passage, 
that  vessel'll  be  the  Sea-Horse.'  It  was  begin 
ning  to  breeze  up  then  and  when  we  swung  off 
that  night  it  was  a  fine  fresh  no'the-easter.  The 
Nannie  hopped  along  pretty  lively,  and,  knowin' 
the  Nannie  was  comin'  along  behind,  don't 
y'know,  George  was  sockin'  it  to  the  Sea-Horse. 
He's  hobblin'  along  the  road  somewhere  now,  I 

181 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

s'pose,  with  the  bit  still  between  his  teeth.  Puts 
her  under  a  reefed  tops'l,  some  of  'em,  in  a  fresh 
breeze  and  calls  it  drivin.'  Any  word  of  the 
Lalla  Rookh?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  No  ?  I  thought  it'd  be  that  way.  Another 
good,  old  chariot,  the  Lalla  Rookh.  I  s'pose  if 
we  had  a  magic  glass  an'  could  get  a  look,  we'd 
see  her  rollin'  along  somewhere  between  here  and 
Cape  Sable.  Just  afore  dark,  Saturday  night,  we 
made  her  out  'bout's  far  to  the  south'ard's  we  c'd 
see — goin'  about  as  straight  west  as  she  c'd  go 
with  her  four  lowers — about  all  she  c'd  stand  up 
under.  Well,  I  must  be  goin'.  Forty  thousand 
halibut,  ten  thousand  cod,  and  five  thousand 
mixed,  and  tell  the  old  man,  Peter,  to  get  a  place 
for  the  Nannie  on  the  railway  to-morrow  morn- 
in'.  I  told  Wallie  about  the  fore  gaff,  and  I  ex 
pect  he's  spoke  of  that.  I  wonder  did  he  tell 
'em  up  to  the  house  that  I'd  be  home  pretty 
soon  after  him — I  expect  he  has." 

"  I  expect  he  has,  Captain.  I  saw  your  wife 
this  mornin'  when  I  was  coming  by  the  house. 
She  was  out  in  the  yard,  with  a  boy  to  each  side 
of  her,  and  the  baby  aloft.  She  said  she'd  word 
o'  you  from  Captain  Manning,  but  she'll  hardly 
be  expectin'  you  to-day,  will  she  ? " 

"Will  she?     Won't  she?     You  don't   know 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

her,  Peter.  She's  always  expectin'  me  if  there's 
any  reason.  There's  a  couple  of  the  children 
fresh-washed  and  out  on  the  front  steps  now,  I'll 
bet — out  where  they  c'n  see  me  soon's  I  turn  the 
corner — a  pair  of  'em  peekin*  over  the  rail,  and 
the  littlest  fellow  inside  with  his  nose  flattened 
against  the  pane — all  keepin'  watch.  To  the 
mast-head  of  a  seiner  they  won't  be  lookin'  any 
harder  for  mackerel  than  them  children  for  me, 
once  they  hear  I'm  on  the  way.  And  one  of 'em 
has  a  birthday  to-day,  Peter.  Don't  you  know 
I  didn't  drive  the  Nannie  for  nothing  this  time, 
Peter.  He's  just  that  odd  he  knows  there 
oughter  be  somethin'  comin'  to  him  on  his  birth 
day.  He's  been  askin'  his  mother,  I  know, 
and  his  mother's  been  tellin'  him  whether  to  ex 
pect  me  home  or  not.  And  he'll  have  the  chart 
out  and  marked  off  the  Nannie's  passage  on  it, 
and  showing  it  to  the  next  younger — yes.  His 
mother  put  'em  up  to  that.  She  pitches  into  me, 
though,  for  carryin'  sail.  '  Tommie,'  she'll  say, 
1  Tommie,  why  do  you  ? '  She  gets  reports  from 
other  skipper's  wives,  d'y*  see.  'You  must  not, 
Tommie.'  She  says  that,  Peter,  but  good  Lord, 
Peter,  you  know  women.  If  she  thought  for  a  sec 
ond  that  I  wouldn't  pull  the  spars  out  the  Nannie 
to  get  home  a  night  sooner,  why  she'd — well  you 

know  women,  Peter.  At  your  age,  you  know " 

183 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

"  I  expect  I  know  as  much  as  the  next,  Cap 
tain,  though  that  ain't  too  much,  but  I  know 
more  about  the  other  thing — sail-carryin' — Cap 
tain.  I  was  only  just  now  tellin'  about  that  pas 
sage  you  made  from  Norway  that  time.  That 
was  a  passage  !  " 

"  Warn't  it  ?  "  The  sudden  smile  made  him 
look  a  most  genial  man. 

"  And  you  cert'nly  did  give  the  Valkyrie  the 
divil  that  time,  Skipper." 

"  The  Valkyrie— the  Valkyrie,  Peter  P  " 

"  Why,  yes,  the  cup-challenger." 

"  Oh,  the  yacht !  Oh,  her.  But  that  warn't 
no  fair  race.  We  was  bound  to  beat  her,  we  car- 
ryin'  everything  and  they  soakin*  along  so's  not 
to  wrack  her  for  the  cup-races.  And  we  not 
carin'  how  we  get  home  so  long's  we  got  home. 
Lord,  Peter,  but  1  just  had  to  make  a  passage 
that  time — I  just  had  to.  It's  tough,  I  tell  you, 
to  think  of  your  wife  havin'  all  the  trouble  alone 
— you  not  there  to  stand  by.  '  By  the  Lord  ! '  I 
said  to  myself,  '  but  here's  somethin'  to  race  for. 
The  yacht?  I'll  lose  her! '  It  was  worth  sink- 
in*  the  Nannie — and  the  Nannie's  a  good  vessel 
— just  to  see  her  face  when  I  stepped  in  the 
room.  Yes,  sir,  she  thought  I  was  a  thousand 
miles  away,  and  still  a-comin'.  And  do  you 
mind  the  christenin',  Peter  ?  Warn't  it  a  chris- 

184 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

tenin'j  though?  Tom  O'Donnell  said  it  made 
him  think  of  bein'  back  in  Galway.  But  I  must 
be  goin'  Peter.  The  wife,  d'ye'  see,  will  be  half- 
expectin'  maybe  to  see  me  turn  the  corner  any 
minute  to-day,  knowin'  I  left  for  home  Saturday 
night,  as  Wallie  told  her.  And  to-day  is  the  lit 
tle  lad's  birthday,  too — the  same  little  lad  that 
was  born  the  day  I  got  home  from  Norway.  The 
same  lad,  and  he'll  have  the  chart  out  and  be 
helpin'  the  Nannie  along."  His  smile  was  now 
a  transfiguration.  "  And  that's  why  I'll  have  to 
hurry  along.  Of  course,  a  man  with  as  many 
children's  I've  got  now  couldn't  run  home  so'sto 
hit  every  birthday  comes  along,  but  when  there's 
a  chance — when  you're  filled  up  and  a  little  driv- 
in'  '11  get  you  home  in  time — why,  a  man  might's 
well  carry  a  bit,  mightn't  he  ?  '  You  oughter  be 
more  careful,'  the  wife  says — she  says,  but  Lord, 
Peter,  if  she  thought  for  a  minute  that  I'd  let 
any  vessel  that  sails  the  sea  out-carry  the  Nan 
nie — named  after  herself,  too,  and  she  Irish — d'y* 
think  she'd  think  half  so  much  of  me  ever  again  ? 
No,  sir,  and  I  always  callate,  so  long's  a  spar'll 
stay  in  her,  the  Nannie,  to  keep  her  goin',  if  it's 
on  a  home  passage.  Well,  I  must  be  goin*. 
When  I  get  started,  I  want  to  talk  all  day. 
Good-by,  Peter — report  me  to  the  office.  Good- 
by,  all,"  and  down  the  stairs  he  went. 

185 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

With  the  disappearance  of  the  sturdy  physique, 
the  round  legs,  round  body,  round  neck,  and 
round  head,  with  the  last  sight  of  the  wavy  hair 
below  the  rim  of  the  hat,  the  entire  gang  in 
Crow's  Nest  relaxed  and  took  full  breaths  again. 

Peter  first  broke  the  silence.  He  took  an  ex 
tra  long  pufF  on  his  pipe,  before  taking  it  from 
his  lips  to  speak.  "  Did  you  see  the  jaws  and 
eyes  of  him  ?  And  now  do  you  b'lieve  me  when 
I  tell  you  that  no  skipper  out  o'  Gloucester  ever 
made  him  take  his  mains'l  in  ?  I  mind  now  the 
time,  in  my  fishin'  days  on  the  Nannie,  when  I 
said  to  myself,  '  Peter,  if  ever  you  see  home 
again  you're  the  lucky  man.  If  ever  you  walk 
Main  Street  again  you  c'n  bet  somebody's  been 
prayin'  for  you.'  The  times  I  said  that,  and 
b'lieved  it,  yes — b'lieved  it  like  my  old  mother 
b'lieves  in  prayers,  and  I  b'lieved  each  time  till 
I  turned  'round  and  looked  at  Tommie.  He'd 
be  aft — buried  to  his  waist  maybe — but  there 
he'd  be  and  I'd  get  a  good  look  at  him.  All  I 
c'd  see  of  his  face'd  be  the  eyes  and  the  jaw — his 
eyes  and  jaw  stickin'  out — the  jaw  like  the  coun 
ter  of  the  Nannie.  But  that's  all  a  man'd  want 
to  see,  them  eyes  and  that  jaw.  Lord  almighty  ! 
but  he's  a  man  to  tie  your  hopes  o'  Heaven  to, 
is  Tommie  Ohlsen  in  a  blow.  Yes,  sir,  the  sight 
o'  Tommie  Ohlsen  standin'  aft  on  the  Nannie  in 

1 86 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

one  of  them  winter  gales — man,  man,  it's  like 
another  anchor." 

"  I'll  bet  he's  a  dog!  "  came  explosively  from 
one  of  the  gang. 

"  Maybe  he  ain't !  And  did  you  see  the  walk 
of  him  ?  "  was  the  sympathetic  chime  of  another. 
"It  made  me  feel  seasick  just  to  see  him  heave 
himself  across  the  floor,  and  when  he  shot  his 
eyes  my  way,  why " 

"  Hush,  now,  and  lemme  see  " — Peter  was 
back  to  work  again — "  What  was  it  he  said  ? 
Wait  now — oh,  yes,  here  it  is.  Forty  thousand 
halibut,  ten  thousand — ring  up,  one  of  you  and 
report  that — The  Nannie  O,  Captain  Tommie 
Ohlsen,  in  from  Grand  Banks  with  forty  thou 
sand  halibut,  ten  thousand  cod,  and  five  thousand 
mixed  fish.  Got  that  ?  All  right — hold  on  now 
— don't  forget  about  a  place  on  the  railway  for 
the  Nannie  to-morrow.  If  they  asks  what's  the 
matter  with  her  say  you  don't  know.  Captain 
Ohlsen  was  in  such  a  hurry,  say  to  'em,  that  he 
forgot  to  say  what  was  the  matter  with  her." 

"  It  will  be  her  oakum,  won't  it  Peter  ?  " 
queried  a  well-versed  one  from  the  lockers. 

"  Most  likely — some  calkin'  she  needs.  It's 
gen'rally  calkin'  when  she  don't  want  new  spars." 

"  But,  Peter,  you  started  to  tell  us  what  the 
millionnaire  yachtsman  gave  Tommie  when  he 

187 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

came  to  Gloucester."  Among  the  loungers  in 
Crow's  Nest  was  always  one  or  two  who  could  be 
depended  upon  to  keep  run  of  the  plot  of  any 
story.  "  I  heard  somebody  saying  one  day  down 
the  dock  that  Captain  Ohlsen  got  a  swell  ba 
rometer  and  chronometer  for  some  fast  passage 
he  made — was  that  it  ?  " 

"It  was.  And  the  best  money  could  buy  they 
were,  with  long  inscriptions  on  the  both  of  'em." 

"  And  has  he  got  them  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  has.  The  glass  is  hangin'  in 
the  cabin  of  the  Nannie  to  this  day,  and  the 
chronometer's  up  in  his  dinin'-room  to  home, 
where  the  children  has  it  to  play  with.  And  he 
certn'ly " 

"  Peter,"  interrupted  the  look-out  of  the  mo 
ment,  "  I  think  there's  another  vessel  coming 
round  the  Point,  but  she  ain't  carrying  any  top- 
s'ls  like  the  Nannie  O." 

Peter  hopped  up.  "  Lord,  you  don't  mean  to 
say  you  sighted  a  vessel  ?  You're  right.  Let 
me  see  now — where's  the  glasses  ?  A  fresh  hali- 
buter,  ain't  she  ?  Yes — an'  by  the  Lord,  it's  the 
Sea-Horse,  George  Hawley.  Said  he'd  report 
the  Nannie,  did  he?  Lord,  Lord,  I'd  give  a 
dollar  if  Tommie  was  here  now.  And  you're 
right  he  ain't  swingin'  no  tops'ls.  He'll  come  in 
— Hawley  will — and  he'll  be  some  surprised  to 

188 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

see  the  Nannie  in  before  him.  There  she  is 
layin'  as  quiet  as  if  she'd  never  been  as  far  away 
as  Thatcher's  in  her  life.  Goes  up  on  the  railway 
every  other  trip  she  does  now,  the  Nannie  does, 
and  she's  gettin'  old,  some  of  them'll  tell  you- — 
this  same  George  Hawley  one  of  them — but  she's 
a  pretty  able  vessel  yet — a  pretty  able  vessel  yet — 
and  the  skipper  that  can  drive  her  is  Tommie 
Ohlsen  when  he  wants  to  make  a  passage — which 
he  gen'rally  does  about  every  time  he  swings  her 
off  for  home.  Wait  till  I  light  my  pipe,  now  ; 
there  " — puff — puff.  "  He's  cert'nly  a  dog — is 
Tommie  Ohlsen — only  some  day  he  won't  come 
home.  Just  a  lee-tie  too  long  he'll  hang  on 
some  day,  and  Tommie  Ohlsen  won't  come  home 
any  more.  No,  sir,  for  all  his  able  seamanship, 
some  day  Tommie  Ohlsen  won't  come  home  any 
more." 

Puff — puff — went  Peter,  while  the  others, 
studying  him,  began  to  figure  out  the  kind  of  a 
gale  it  would  have  to  be  when  Tommie  Ohlsen 
would  fail  to  come  home.  It  would  need  to  be 
a  gale  that — indeed  yes.  But  puff — puff — went 
Peter,  and  removing  his  pipe  ominously  he  said 
it  again,  softly,  looking  at  the  stove  and  as  if  to 
himself,  "  And  some  day  Tommie  Ohlsen  won't 
come  home  any  more."  They  hearkened  to  that, 
even  as  they  hearkened  to  the  gale  that  still  raged 

189 


Tommie  Ohlsen's  Western  Passage 

outside,  and  for  a  time  they  were  quieter  than 
ever.  "It  would  have  to  be  the  awful  gale 
that — it  cert'nly  would."  They  all  agreed  to 
that  and  were  downcast.  But  hope  subdued  is  a 
buoyant  thing.  They  had  seen  the  man  himself, 
and  "  Shucks,"  said  one,  "  I'd  like  to  see  the 
gale  that  he  couldn't  stand  off — with  an  able  ves 
sel  under  him.  It  never  came  out  the  ocean, 
I  don't  believe — the  gale  that  would  send  Tom 
mie  Ohlsen  to  the  bottom — not  with  the  Nannie 
O  under  him — no,  sir," — :and  "  Shucks  "  burst 
out  a  chorus,  "  that's  right.  Not  Tommie  Ohl 
sen — why,  all  Gloucester  knew  him — Lord  yes." 
And  just  then  the  sun  streaming  through  the 
open  port-hole  of  Crow's  Nest  added  its  cheerful 
suggestion  of  everlasting  hope. 


190 


CLANCY 


Clancy 

i 

IN  the  harbor  of  St.  Pierre,  Miquelon,  an 
American  fisherman,  the  Tubal  Cain,  was 
lying  at  anchor,  and  tramping  her  quarter  was 
her  master,  Joshua  Bradley,  now  so  indignant 
that  the  deck-planks  were  ringing  under  his  boot- 
heels.  Only  a  most  godly  effort  of  will  was 
holding  down  the  righteous  wrath  of  Captain 
Joshua,  who  had  just  discovered  that  Clancy  was 
not  aboard. 

"If  ever  I  ship  a  drinking  man  again  may 

the !  Drunk  coming  out  o*  Gloucester — so 

drunk  he  like  to  fell  from  the  mast-head — drunk 
all  the  time  we  was  laying  over  in  Halifax — yes, 
by  Jehoshaphat,  drunk — and  now  drunk  here — 
and  drunker,  I'll  bet,  than  he  ever  was  to  the 
west'ard,  because  what  with  cassy  wine  and  red 
rum  so  cheap  most  anybody's  got  money  enough 
to  get  drunk  and  stay  drunk — Yes,  by  the  hosts 
of  Pharaoh,  yes,  sir." 

Captain  Joshua  stamped  the  quarter  and  looked 
wrathfully  toward  the  town.  From  his  New 


Clancy 

England  point  of  view  there  was  nothing  uplift 
ing  in  the  situation.  The  one  man  of  the  crew 
that  knew  every  harbor  on  the  south  coast  of  New 
foundland,  the  one  man  that  knew  every  cove  and 
headland  in  Placentia  Bay,  the  one  man  that  knew 
all  the  native  fishermen  in  all  their  moods — this 
one  man  was  now  drunk  as  great  Jehoshaphat — 
yes,  sir,  drunk  as — by  the  rod  o'  Moses  there 
warn't  no  comparisons  strong  enough.  And  the 
worst  of  it — he  was  drunk  ashore.  If  he  was 
drunk  in  his  berth  now,  they  could  swing  her  off 
and  go  along,  and  let  him  come-to  on  the  drive 
across  the  gulf.  But  he  was  drunk  ashore ! 

Captain  Joshua  turned  to  that  member  of  the 
crew  who  had  earned  distinction  as  being  the  last 
man  in  Clancy's  company.  "  Where'd  you  say 
you  left  him  ? " 

"  Oh,  up  in  one  of  them  caffies — one  of  them 
caffies  with  a  queer  name,  up  by  the  square  where 
the  blue  pump  is  out  in  the  middle." 

"  Where  the  pump  is  ?  You  don't  mean  the 
Caffy  Middy  ?  "  suggested  Captain  Josh,  but  with 
the  air  of  a  cautious  man,  like  one  who  sought  not 
to  get  a  reputation  as  being  really  knowing  in  re 
gard  to  such  places. 

"That's  it,  Captain— the  Caffy  Middy." 

"  And  when'd  you  leave  him,  did  you  say  ? " 

"  'Bout  one  this  morning." 
194 


Clancy 

"  'Bout  one  ?  H-m-m — a  good  time  for  you 
to  be  comin'  aboard.  He  was  drunk  then,  I 
s'pose  ? " 

"  Oh-h,  not  real  drunk.  He  could  hold  his 
feet  all  right." 

"  Could  he  though  ?  MustVe  felt  proud  of 
himself.  Could  hold  his  feet,  could  he  ? " 

"  Yes,  because  he  came  across  the  room  where 
I  was  talking  to  one  of  the  waiter  girls — the  one 
in  the  green  waist.  Maybe  you  noticed  her, 
Captain,  when " 

"  Noticed  her  ?  "  roared  Captain  Josh.  "  And 
how  in  the  name  o*  the  Lost  Tribes  d'y*  s'pose 
I'd  come  to  notice  her? " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  but  what  you  dropped  in 
to  rubber  'round — to  kind  o'  keep  an  eye  out  for 
Tommie  maybe." 

"  No,  I  didn't  drop  in  to  kind  o'  keep  an  eye 
on  Tommie.  D'y'  think  I  got  no  business 
ashore  but  rubberin'  into  caffies  or  lookin'  out  for 
Tommie  ?  What'd  he  do  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  comes  over.  '  Get  out,'  he  says  to 
me, { allay — the  likes  o'  you  to  try  and  polley-voo 
to  a  French  lady — the  likes  o'  you ! '  He  was 
good-natured  enough,  but  he  pushes  me  out 
the  way  just  the  same. 

" e  Maybe  you  think  she'd  like  to  talk  with  you 
with  that  swelling  on  your  jaw,'  says  I.  He'd  a 

J95 


Clancy 

fine  big  lump  on  his  jaw  where  I  guess  some 
Frenchman — maybe  three  or  four — slammed  him. 
'  Maybe  you  think  you're  the  handsome  boy 
'round  here  ? '  I  says. 

" c  'Tain't  handsome  boys — 'tis  winnin'  ways 
that  counts,'  he  says.  '  Ness  pah,  belle  mazelle  ? ' 
he  goes  on,  and  winds  up  with,  '  Let  me  whisper 
in  her  ear.'  So  I  left  him  whisperin'  and  came 
aboard." 

"  And  when  was  that,  d'y*  say — one  o'clock  ? " 

"  Oh,  one  or  two,  along  there." 

"  H-m-m — one  or  two  or  three  or  four,  I  s'pose 
— any  old  time  so  long's  I  was  turned  in.  Two 
o'clock  in  the  mornin' — if  it  warn't  three  or  four 
or  five  or  six — and  whisperin'  to  a  lady — a  real 
lady,  of  course,  being  as  it  was  in  the  CafFy 
Middy.  And  he's  whisperin'  yet  if  I  know  him. 
I've  knowed  him  to  stay  whisperin'  for  a  week 
once  he  started  in.  Maybe  some  of  you  could 
go  ashore  and  get  him.  Did  you  say  he  warn't 
real  drunk  ? " 

"  Well,  not  what  you'd  call  ossified.  His 
tongue  was  loose  anyway.  '  Bong  swor,  mazelle,' 
he  was  saying,  f  bong  swor.  'Tain't  like  I  can't 
polley-voo  French,'  he  says,  when  I  was  going 
away.  '  'Tain't  like  I  can't  say  a  word  to  the 
lady  in  her  own  beautiful  language — her  belle 
languajh.  This  ain't  my  first  stop  ashore  in 

196 


Clancy 

Miquelon — no,  nor  my  twenty-first  maybe.  Bong 
swor,  mazelle,'  he  goes  on,  £  vooz  eightay  so  belle 
— most  belle — vooz.'  I  followed  him  along  that 
far  because  I  knew  that  much  French  myself." 

"Huh!"  sniffed  Captain  Joshua,  "I  don't 
guess  you'd  have  to  follow  him  so  much  further  for 
all  the  French  he  knows  !  And  if  it  warn't  for 
them  few  kegs  of  red  rum  we  got  below,  and  me 
dependin'  on  him  to  squeeze  it  through  for  me, 
I'd  say  to  the  devil  with  him.  I  s'pose  he'll  get 
to  thinkin'  soon  we  can't  get  along  without  him, 
but  two  of  you  drop  into  that  dory  and  waltz  up 
to  the  Caffy  Middy  and  see  what  condition  he's 
in — get  him  aboard  if  you  can.  Yes,  by  Jehosh- 
aphat,  he'll  get  to  thinkin'  the  vessel  can't  get 
along  without  him.  Get  her  under  way  the  rest 
of  you,  while  the  dory's  gone.  Make  sail,  main 
and  fore,  and  then  start  the  chain  and  we'll  up 
jibs  and  be  ready  to  go  by  the  time  the  dory's 
back." 

II 

When  Tommie  Clancy  came  to  himself  in  the 
Cafe  du  Midi  he  first  sought  to  discover  what  day 
it  was. 

"  Kell  ay  le  joor  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  rather 
elderly  woman  behind  the  bar. 

"  I  spik  no  Anglish,"  she  returned. 
197 


Clancy 

"  What  the — Pardong,  mazelle.  Well,  let  me 
think  now.  O  yes,  kell  ay  larjoordwee — Mon 
day,  Tuesday,  Wednesday — Lundi,  Mardi,  Mer- 
credi,  Jeudi — " 

"  Oh-h — Mercredi — oui,  oui,  Mercredi !  " 
"  Wednesday  !     By   the  Lord,   then    Captain 
Josh  has  sailed  away — sailed  away.'*    He  lounged 
toward   the   nearest  window,  looked  out  across 
the  harbor  and  began,  not  without  melody — 

Oh,  my  captain  sailed  away 
Out  o'  Massachusetts  Bay 
In  the  merry  month  o'  May, 

To  go  a-whalin'. 
And  my  captain  says  to  me 
Before  he  sailed  to  sea — 
"If  you  get  drunk,"  says  he, 

"You  get  a  whalin'." 

And  I  says,  "  O  Captain  mine  " — 
My  eyes  were  runnin*  brine — 
"  Your  evil  thoughts  of  me 

Give  me  sorrow. 
I'm  going  ashore,"  says  I, 
"  I'll  behave  most  proper-lie, — 
And  be  with  you  at  the  dawnin* 

Of  the  morrow." 

But  my  captain  sailed  away 
Without  me  o'er  the  bay — 
My  captain  sailed  away 
To  go  a-whalin*. 
198 


Clancy 


'Bout  the  rime  he  sailed  away 
Out  o'  Massachusetts  Bay 
They  had  me  in  a  cell 
Awaitin'  bailin'. 


Oh,  my  captain  sailed  away 
Out  o' 


"Let  him  sail!"  and  with  that  Tommie  sud 
denly  abandoned  his  warbling,  turned,  and  caught 
the  eye  of  a  rather  fleshy  and  very  black-haired 
man  of  middle  age,  who  sat  at  a  table,  the  only 
other  man  in  the  place,  and  who,  as  Tommie's 
gaze  met  his  own,  promptly  stepped  forward  and 
with  a  beaming  smile  inquired,  "  I  can  help  you 
— perhaps  ?  " 

Tommie  look  him  over.  "You  speak  pretty 
good  English,  mosseer.  Frenchy-voo  ?  " 

"  Not  ex-act-ly." 

"Anglish?" 

"  Not  ex-act-ly." 

"  Not  ex-act-ly.  Not  French,  not  English, 
and  I  know  you're  no  American — the  trade-mark 
ain't  on  you,  but  you  speak  pretty  good  English 
for  a  foreigner." 

"  I  am  half  French,  half  English — my  father 
English,  my  mother  French.  My  name — it  is 
Miller." 

"  Miller  ?     And  I'll  bet  you're  a  fox." 
199 


Clancy 

The  stranger  smiled.  "  No,  no — no — no  fox, 
as  you  say." 

"  No  ?     Well,  my  name  is  Clancy." 

"  I  know.  And  your  vessel  has  sailed  yester 
day  morning.  The  captain  he  could  not  wait. 
Two  men  they  tried  to  wake  you,  but — .  You 
were — well — you  — were — ' ' 

"  Drunk  ? " 

"  Oh-h  no.     Sleepy,  I  should  say." 

"  Sleepy,  the  devil !     I  was  drunk." 

"  Drunk  ?  Well,  perhaps  so — if  you  yourself 
say  it — yes.  They  said — the  men — that  your 
captain  he  did  not  like  it.  They  said  you  could 
come  after  him  when  you  got  sober  or  go  back 
to  Gloucester,  as  you  pleased.  He  did  not  like 
it — you  drinking  too  much  cassis  wine." 

"  Did  he  ? — the  blessed  old  deacon.  What 
under  the  sun  ever  drove  him  to  fishing,  I  don't 
know.  Said  I  could  go  back  to  Gloucester,  eh  ? 
Well,  maybe  I  will.  Wait,  now — when  does  the 
steamer  leave  for  Halifax  ?  " 

f<  There  is  one  in  two  days." 

"Then  I'll  take  it — if  I've  got  enough  money. 
Wait,  now,  till  I  see." 

Tommie  overhauled  his  pockets.  He  gathered 
from  his  trousers,  his  vest,  and  the  little  finger 
pocket  in  his  coat,  a  loose  collection  of  French, 
English,  and  American  coins.  "Wait  now."  He 


200 


Clancy 

sorted  them  out  on  the  bar,  and  began  to  figure. 
"  Let  me  see  now.  Coppers  don't  count,  do 
they  ?  Here's  two  American  quarters  and  here's 
a  queer  French  piece,  and  three  Newfoundland 
quarters — though  where  they  come  from  I  don't 
know — and  here's  some  dimes,  and —  Wait,  now, 
till  I  figure  it  up.  Seventy-five  and  seventy-five 
and  twenty-five  makes  one  seventy-five.  And 
ten  French  and  three  tens  Newfoundland  and 
three  tens  American  and  this  queer  piece — that 
don't  go,  I  suppose — but  here's  a  French  franc — 
twenty  ?  That's  two  sixty-five,  ain't  it  ?  By  the 
Lord,  but  I'm  flush.  Two  sixty-five.  And  how 
much  to  Halifax  by  the  cheapest  ticket?  If 
ever  I  get  to  Halifax —  How  much,  now,  from 
here  to  Halifax  ?" 

"  To  Halifax  ?  About  five  dollairs — third 
class." 

"  Five  dollars  ?  Wait  now.  There's  two 
fifty.  That'll  get  me  half  way.  That  won't  do, 
will  it  ?  No  half-way  stations  at  sea,  is  there  ? 
No.  Wait  now.  Two  fifty.  See  here,  Mister 
Miller.  You're  a  sporting  gent,  I  know.  I  can 
see  that  by  the  look  of  you.  Sporting  blood  is 
just  running  around  as  loose  as  can  be  inside  of 
you,  I'll  bet.  I'll  cut  cards  with  you  for  this  two 
fifty.  There's  a  pack  on  that  table  there." 

"  Very  well,  sair." 

201 


Clancy 

They  cut.  Tommie  turned  a  queen  and  the 
stranger  a  four. 

"You  win,  Mistair  Clancy.  I  will  try  you 
again.  Do  you  say,  Yes  ?  For  the  five  dollairs  ? 
Very  well,  sair.  One  two-spot — oh,  oh,  one  two- 
spot.  And  you,  Mistair  Clancy  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  "  Tommie  flipped  it  up.  "  One  ten- 
spot,  Mister  Miller." 

"  You  are  lucky,  Mistair  Clancy.  Shall  we 
say  again  ?  Twenty  dollairs  you  will  then  have, 
if  you  win." 

"  Twenty  dollars,  eh  ?  That's  right — if  I  win. 
I  don't  like  the  way  you  said  it,  Mistair  Miller, 
but  here's  a  go.  And  if  I  win,  Mistair  Miller,  1 
stop  card-cutting  right  here  and  I  go  by  first 
cabin  to  Halifax.  I  want  to  warn  you  so  you 
won't  feel  put  out.  Here  you  are.  A  king  ! — 
there's  a  hot  one  for  you,  a  king  !  " 

"  And  I— a  king  also  !  " 

"  Follow  your  hand,  old  man.  Now  what ! — 
an  ace?  Good  Lord,  what  am  I  up  against? 
Wait  now.  Watch  the  professair.  Wait  now — 
watch — a  deuce  !  Blessed  Lord,  think  of  that — 
a  measly  little  two-spot — and  after  the  king  !  If 
I  was  only  half-way  in  it,  but  a  deuce  against  an 
ace  !  Wait  now.  Here's  this  dime  and  nickel 
— fifteen  cents.  Come  now,  give  me  a  run  for 
the  fifteen  cents.  Come  now,  where's  your  An- 

202 


Clancy 

glo- Franco  sporting  blood  ?  Give  me  a  run  for 
the  fifteen,  Mister  Miller.  Come  now." 

"  As  you  say,  Mistair  Clancy,  but  I  do  not 
like  that — to  take  your  last  cent.  I  would  not 
be  like  what  you  call  a  sporting  gent."  Mr.  Mil 
ler  smiled  like  an  honest  fellow. 

"  Well,  maybe  you're  right.  It  looks  like 
reneging,  too,  after  sayin'  I  was  going  to  quit  if 
I  won  that  last  one.  But  the  fifteen  ain't  any  use 
to  me,  so  let's  have  a  drink  with  it.  Come  now, 
and  if  the  mazelle  behind  the  bar'll  let  us  have 
two  drinks  for  it,  we'll  have  a  little  touch." 

"  With  pleasure,  Mistair  Clancy.  You  are 
what  you  call  in  your  country — gam' — gam* — 
game  !  Ah,  that  is  it — you  are  game  !  It  is  in 
your  eye." 

"In  my  eye? — h-m — like  that  twenty  I  thought 
I  had  when  I  saw  the  king.  No,  you're  not  a 
fox — oh  no.  Drink  up  and  let's  have  another 
little  touch.  Oh,  I  forgot — I'm  broke.  If  I 
was  in  Halifax  now — I  know  a  party  in  Halifax 
— but  maybe  you  can  tell  me  how  I'm  going  to 
get  a  passage  to  Placentia  Bay." 

"  I  think  I  know.  And  have  a  leet-le — ha — 
tush  with  me.  That  is  a  new  word  for  me — 
a  leet-le  tush.  Have  a  tush  with  me,  Mistair 
Clancy." 

"  I  don't  mind.  And  you  think  you  can  land 
203 


Clancy 

me  in  Placentia  pretty  soon  ?     Well,  you  do  and 
you're  all  right.     Here's  a  shoot." 

"  And  me — a  shoot  also."  Mr.  Miller  touched 
his  lips  to  the  glass.  "  And  now  let  us  go  to 
that  table  in  the  corner  and  I  will  tell  you.  But 
perhaps  we  may  need  some  wine  while  we  talk. 
Antoinette — O,  Antoinette."  He  motioned  to 
the  woman  behind  the  bar,  and  she  brought  over 
a  bottle  and  two  glasses. 

They  poured  out  another  drink.  Miller  bowed 
and  just  touched  his  glass.  Tommie  nodded  and 
drained  his  to  the  bottom.  He  smacked  his  lips, 
fingered  the  bottle,  studied  the  label,  said,  "  Ah, 
cassy,  ain't  it  ? "  with  much  satisfaction,  set  the 
bottle  down  regretfully,  looked  resolutely  over 
to  his  new  acquaintance,  and  said,  "  Drive  her." 

"  I  have  in  the  harbor,"  began  Miller,  "  a  fine 
vessel,  a  fine  vessel.  She  was  one  time  of  Glouces 
ter,  one  of  your  fishermen.  She  is  a  very  good 
schooner  and  you  will  like  her,  I  know." 

"  I  will  like  her — is  that  so  ?  " 

"  Wait.  One  time  here  in  Saint  Pierre  we  did 
a  very  good  business  in  Newfoundland  herring. 
Every  spring  our  sheeps — our  schooners — come 
over  from  France  and  go  over  to  bait  in  New 
foundland — in  Fortune  Bay,  in  Placentia  Bay,  at 
Saint  John's,  and  so  on.  You  understand  ?  " 

"  So  far,  yes.     But  what  is  it  all  about  ?  " 
204 


Clancy 

"  One  mo-ment.  Our  fishermen — but  first, 
let  us  have  anothair  leetle  tush,  as  you  say. 
Come  now,  as  you  also  say,  Mistair  Clancy. 
Come  now.  It  is  good  wine — of  the  best,  is  it 
not  ?  " 

"  Of  the  swellest.  And  I  don't  know  but  I 
will.  Have  a  touch  yourself?  " 

"  No,  no,  but  drink  you — you,  who  are  my 
friend.  You  honor  me." 

"  That  so  ?  Well,  stick  to  me,  old  man,  and 
you'll  die  in  honor.  Here's  a  shoot." 

"  Thank  you.  Well,  our  French  fishermen 
can  no  more  come  over  to  the  Newfoundland 
coast  and  get  bait  without — without  we  get  pair- 
mit,  and  pairmit  costs  a  dollair  and  a  half  the  ton. 
A  dollair  and  a  half  the  ton  our  sheeps  must  pay. 
You  know  that,  Mistair  Clancy  ?  Very  well.  I 
have,  I  myself,  four  sheeps  which  fish  on  the 
banks.  Well,  there  is  twelve  hundred  tons  at  a 
dollair  and  a  half  the  ton.  I  have  also  four  more 
sheeps  of  Bordeaux  in  the  old  country  which 
look  to  me.  Their  captains  come  to  me  every 
year  for  bait.  There  is  twelve  hundred  tons 
more.  Twelve  and  twelve,  that  is  twenty-four 
hundred  tons  at  a  dollair  and  a  half  the  ton. 
How  much  must  I  pay,  Mistair  Clancy?  You, 
who  are  the  quick  cal-cu-la-tor,  how  much  shall 
I  pay  ? " 

205 


Clancy 

"How  much?  Wait  now.  I'll  have  to  stop 
drinking  cassy  if  I've  got  to  figure.  Wait  now. 

0  yes — thirty-six  hundred  dollars." 

"  Well,  do  you  see  nothing,  Mistair  Clancy  ?  " 
"  I  begin  to  get  a  glimmer.     Thirty-six  hun 
dred  dollars  before  you  can  buy  any  bait  for  your 
own  little  fleet  this  spring  ?  " 

"  Ex-act-ly — and  why  ?  Because  over  in  New 
foundland  they  know  that  Saint  Pierre  and  Miq- 
uelon  belong  to  France  and  that  we  cannot  help 
ourself.  They  think  so  and  they  are  right — may 
be.  Will  you  honor  me,  my  friend  ?  Ah,  yes — 
a  leet-le  tush — allow  me.  It  is  good  wine — yes. 

1  will  drink  with  you  this  time.     To  your  very 
fine  health,  Mistair  Clancy." 

"  Throw  it  into  you,  and  here's  hoping  you'll 
die  the  way  you  like  best." 

"  Thank  you.  And  if  I  can  obtain  the  bait  I 
can  have  twenty  other  sheeps  for  which  to  furnish 
bait  this  spring  to  come.  Now,  our  captains  say 
they  will  not  go  to  Newfoundland  and  pay  the 
tax — a  dollair  and  a  half  the  ton.  They  will  not 
pay  the  tax  to  the  English  flag.  They  will  get 
bait  some  other  place.  But  no-tice,  Mistair 
Clancy,  no-tice.  If  bait  is  here  our  fishermen 
will  buy.  If  herring  is  here  our  fishermen  will 
buy — yes,  oh,  yes.  And  over  there  in  New 
foundland,  in  Fortune  Bay,  in  Placentia  Bay, 

206 


Clancy 


everywhere  is  plenty  herring — for  how  much? 
For  how  much,  Mistair  Clancy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  cheap,  dirt  cheap.  On  the  Tubal  we 
expected  to  pay  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  or  a  dollar 
and  a  half." 

"  There — one  dollair  and  a  half  shall  we  say  ? 
And  here  how  much  ?  Five  dollairs.  Yes.  There 
it  is.  My  schooner  now  here  in  Saint  Pierre  will 
carry  fifteen  hundred  barrels,  if  you  load  her  deep. 
And  you  would  load  her  deep,  most  deep,  I  am 
sure,  Mistair  Clancy.  Over  to  Placentia  Bay, 
where  your  vessel  now  is — Captain  Bradley — it 
is  not  far,  not  more  than  one  hundred  miles  clear 
up  to  head  of  bay — not  much  more — one  hundred 
miles.  A  short  voyage  that  is.  You  begin  to  see. 
You  know  the  coast  well,  Mistair  Clancy — nobody 
better.  And  you  are  a  bold  man,  a  bold  man, 
Mistair  Clancy.  You  are  a  man — how  shall  I 
say  ? — a  man  of  resource,  yes.  You  know  your 
bees-i-ness — that  is  it,  Mistair  Clancy — you  know 
your  bees-i-ness — hah  ?  " 

"  M-m — Easy  there  or  I'll  take  to  blushing. 
Let's  have  another  little  touch  and  think  it  over. 
Here,  better  get  another  bottle — this  one's 
ashore." 

"  Anothair  bottle — cert-ain-ly.  A  dozen  if 
you  weesh  it.  O,  Antoinette,  Antoinette — of  the 
same,  Antoinette.  She  goes.  It  comes.  It 

207 


Clancy 

comes,  my  friend.  And  you  are  a  man  who  likes 
li-i-fe,  Mistair  Clancy.  You  like  wine,  music, 
the  dance,  the  pree-ty  face — a-ha-a — you  like  to 
li-i-ve,  Mistair  Clancy,  and  you  do  not  fear  to 
take  a  chance,  as  you  would  say  in  your  country. 
You  see,  I  know  you  fishermen  of  Gloucester 
and  I  spik  your  style  sometimes.  Shall  I  drink 
to  our  success  ? — you  shall  have  one-quartair  of 
the  profits." 

"  Yes  ?  But  ain't  you  kind  of  rushing  things 
along?" 

"  Ah,  but  you  are  not  one  who  hes-i-tates.  No 
sair,  not  you,  Mistair  Clancy.  Your  good  health, 
your  very  best  health,  mon  ami — my  friend." 

"  Well,  here's  a  shoot.  I'm  stranded  and 
you're  a  fox.  What  kind  of  a  crew  can  I  get  ? " 

"  Whatever  you  weesh.  Yourself,  a  cook,  and 
four  men,  five  men,  seex  men,  or  more  if  you 
weesh  it  so." 

"  Six  men  and  a  cook  will  be  plenty  to  handle 
her  if  she's  that  vessel  layin*  down  at  your  dock. 
I  s'pose  that's  your  dock  and  store  near  where 
our  vessel  was  layin'  Monday.  Our  skipper 
must've  bought  his  rum  from  you  ? " 

"  Ah-h — say  nothing.  Your  skippair  is  a  fox, 
as  you  yourself  would  say.  Reads  the  Bible,  but 
a  fox." 

"  H-m-m — you've  got  Captain  Josh  properly 
208 


Clancy 

tagged,  ain't  you  ?  And  I  s'pose  you've  got  me 
sized  up,  too  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mistair  Clan—" 

"  Oh,  Mistair  Miller !  It's  all  right.  You 
can't  hurt  my  reputation.  I've  been  three  times 
disrated — three  times  I've  been  skipper,  and  three 
times  back  to  the  forehold.  That's  pretty  near 
the  record  for  a  man  of  thirty-six.  That's  all, 
thirty-six.  A  little  gray  around  the  temples  and 
a  little  strained  in  the  heart,  but  only  thirty-six, 
Old  Man." 

"  Ah,  you  have  the  vi-vac-ity  of  a  boy,  Mistair 
Clancy.  You  have  the  nerve — what  a  soldier  is 
in  you  !  And  when  you  are  going,  I  shall  give 
you  a  letter  of  credit  to  a  collector  of  customs 
over  there,  who  will  protect  you  in  his  district. 
You  understand  ?  He  will  wink  the  eye,  look 
the  othair  way.  But  do  not  use  it  unless  you  are 
about  to  be  captured,  because  he  will  want  a 
share,  you  understand,  a  share.  He  knows  not  of 
this  schooner — that  it  is  my  schooner.  No.  And 
so,  you  understand,  why  pay  out  more  than  is 
nec-es-sary  ?  But,  of  course,  if  you  are  in  a  tight 
place " 

"  I  can  use  it,"  finished  Clancy.  "  But  don't 
try  and  fool  me  like  you're  fooling  this  collector 
you're  speaking  of.  No  double-cross  or  you  and 

me'll  get  in  a  knot.     Remember,  you  do  unto  me 

209 


Clancy 

as  you  would  have  me  do  unto  you,  as  Captain 
Josh  is  fond  of  saying.  But  if  it's  to  be  the  other 
way, — you  do  me  and  you  can  count  on  it  I'll  do 
you — or  try  to.  I'll  stop  at  nothing — nothing — 
once  the  war's  on.  And  now  you  want  to  fit  this 
vessel  out.  By  the  way,  what's  her  name  ?  " 

"  Any  name  you  please — for  this  voyage." 

"  For  this  voyage  ? — you're  sure  a  fox.  Well, 
call  her  the  Marguerite." 

"As  you  say.  This  very  day  it  shall  be 
painted  on — Marguerite.  It  is  pree-ty." 

"  So  was  she.    Let's  have  one  to  Marguerite — 

Oh,  have  you  seen  my  Marguerite  ? 
O  Marguerite,  O  Marguerite — 

But  of  course  you  ain't.  Nor  nobody  else 
around  here — she's  a  dream.  Here's  a  shoot. 
Now  you  want  to  load  her  up  with  plenty  of  cassy 
wine  and  red  rum — plenty  of  cassy  wine  and  red 
rum  in  her  fore  and  after  runs.  I'll  attend  to  the 
stowing  of  it  after  we  put  out." 

"  It  is  done — cassis  wine  and  red  rum.  And 
a  case  of  champagne  for  yourself — in  your  own 
locker." 

"Well  now,  by  the  Lord — a  case  of  cham 
pagne  !  Good !  Miller,  you're  all  right.  And 
I'll  load  her  so  full  of  herring  that  we'll  have  to 

210 


Clancy 

pile  the  chain  anchor  on  the  hatches  to  keep  'em 
under." 

"  Ah,  what  a  man  !  They  told  me  about  you. 
What  a  man  !  They  told  me." 

"  Did  they  ?  Did  Captain  Josh  quote  some 
thing  from  Scripture  to  specially  fit  my  case  ? 
And  we'll  need  some  ready  money.  Now  you 
don't  know  but  what  I  might  jump  out  on  you, 
so  I  don't  ask  you  for  any  money,  but  give  it  to 
some  one  of  the  crew  you  can  trust.  Make  one 
of  them  purser." 

"  The  cook,  Mistair  Clancy,  shall  be  my 
brothair." 

"Shall  he,  though? — the  cook?  All  right. 
How  do  you  say  cook  in  French  ? " 

"  Oh — le  cuisinier,  le  chef,  le  cordon  bleu  may 
be,  but " 

"  Quee-see-neer  —  chef —  cord-ong,  cord-ong 
bloo — in  case  I  have  to  call  him  in  a  hurry,  you 
know.  Quee-see-neer — chef — how's  that  last  ? — 
O  yes,  cord-ong  bloo.  I'll  remember  those." 

"  Very  well.  His  name  is  Jean,  my  brothair 
Jean.  He  spiks  English  and  French  also." 

"Jean — Jane — I'll  remember  that,  too.  Jane, 
O  Jean,  my  pretty  Jane.  Speaks  English  and 
French,  does  he?  That'll  be  good — to  have 
somebody  aboard  c'n  speak  English  and  French 
both.  In  case  we  have  to  slip  the  anchor  or  take 

211 


Clancy 

off  sail  so's  to  hide  against  a  black  rock  in  a  hurry 
and  the  crew  don't  get  on  to  my  accent  quick 
enough,  I'll  wake  the  cook.  You've  got  to  be 
ready  for  such  things.  You  can't  tell,  our  luck 
might  be  as  bad's  that.  We  may  have  to  heave 
a  cask  over — with  a  line  made  fast  to  it,  of  course 
— a  good  strong  painter  and  little  buoys  like  they 
use  for  lobster  pots.  Who  knows,  we  may  have 
to  heave  a  collector  of  customs  over " 

"  The  Collector !  But  with  care,  Mistair 
Clancy,  with  care." 

"  With  care — cert'nly,  with  care.  By  the  Lord, 
but  I  b'lieve  a  murder  wouldn't  jar  you  so  long's 
you  run  no  danger  of  getting  found  out.  I  really 
b'lieve — but  don't  you  worry.  We  may  set  a 
tide-waiter  adrift " 

"  Of  course,  Mistair  Clancy,  they  look  into 
those  things — adreeft  in  a  good  harbor." 

"  Be  sure — in  the  best.  Don't  worry — we'll 
pick  out  a  harbor  with  plenty  of  water  when  we 
turn  them  adrift.  But  strategy — strategy — that'll 
be  lawful  in  this  case." 

"  Of  course,  Mistair  Clancy.  And  now  a  shake 
of  the  hand  and  one  leet-le  tush.  I  like  that — 
one  leet-le  tush." 

"  Do  you  now  ?  But  nothing  wonderful.  You 
know  what  Shakespeare  said, '  One  touch  of  cassy 
makes  the  whole  world  kin.'  He  knew.  They 

212 


Clancy 

say  that  when  Shake  was  in  his  prime  he  didn't 
do  a  thing  to  the  old  red  stuff  himself.  Well, 
here's  a  shoot." 


Ill 

After  a  time  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  collector 
of  customs  at  Good  Hope  that  a  smart-looking 
vessel  with  a  French  crew  was  doing  illegal  things 
in  and  about  the  more  retired  harbors  and  coves 
of  the  bay. 

"  Pooh,  pooh,"  said  the  collector,  when  the 
matter  was  first  brought  to  his  attention — "  pooh, 
pooh — I've  been  on  those  wild-goose  chases  be 
fore.  Now,  if  it  was  an  American  vessel — one  of 
those  Gloucester  fishermen — it  might  be  differ 
ent,  though  even  they  are  beginning  to  have  a 
care.  There  was  Captain  Bradley  of  the  Tubal 
Cain  only  last  week.  He's  got  his  lesson.  But 
a  Frenchman  ! — he  wouldn't  dare — pish,  Harvey, 
pish." 

Though  the  collector  in  that  fashion  sniffed  at 
the  first  word  of  these  alleged  illegal  acts,  yet  he 
was  brought  gradually  to  believe  in  the  truth  of 
the  rumors ;  and  so,  forsaking  his  slippers  and 
his  comfortable  chair  by  the  glowing  grate,  he  got 
into  his  boots  and  went  aboard  the  Sleepless,  in 
which  he  was  wont,  when  his  periods  of  action 

213 


Clancy- 
were  on,  to  cruise  after  smugglers  and  other  ene 
mies  of  the  customs  law. 

A  good  little  vessel  was  the  Sleepless,  of  about 
sixty  tons,  schooner  rigged  and  mounting  two 
one-pounders  on  her  forward  deck.  The  col 
lector  came  aboard,  made  known  his  wishes,  and 
immediately  retired  to  the  cabin  for  a  preparatory 
nap;  the  captain  issued  his  orders,  walked  the 
quarter,  and  they  were  off  on  a  hunt  for  the 
audacious  Frenchman. 

It  was  a  most  elusive  craft  they  found  them 
selves  chasing.  If  there  were  people  along  shore 
who,  making  no  profit  out  of  the  French  vessel, 
went  out  of  their  way  to  volunteer  enlightening 
information  to  the  customs  officers,  there  were 
also  others  who,  having  profited  by  her  and  hop 
ing  to  profit  again,  went  just  as  far  out  of  their 
way  to  circulate  mystifying  reports  of  her.  Be 
tween  the  two,  the  true  and  the  misleading,  the 
collector  spent  some  days  in  a  baffling  search. 

But  he  caught  up  with  her  at  last.  In  a  re 
tired  back  cove,  into  which  the  Sleepless  seemed 
to  find  her  way  by  accident,  they  stumbled  on 
the  Frenchman.  There  she  was,  lying  at  a 
rum-cask  mooring,  which  plainly  was  arranged  to 
be  slipped  in  a  twinkling ;  with  all  her  lower  sails 
standing,  there  was  the  Frenchman — Marguerite 
was  the  name  disclosed  by  the  glass — and  even 

214 


Clancy 

then  her  crew  were  dumping  herring  into  the 
hold. 

"  Great  Scott !  "  said  the  collector,  "  loaded  to 
the  scuppers.  Bear  down,  Captain  Harvey,  and 
let  them  see  our  guns.  We'll  teach  them." 

"  Ahoy — "  he  called  out  as  the  Sleepless  ap 
proached — "  ahoy — aboard  the  schooner." 

A  man  with  a  great  black  beard  and  showing  a 
great  shock  of  black  hair,  when  he  removed  his 
cap  to  rub  his  forehead,  came  out  of  the  cabin  and 
answered,  "  Ahoy — vat  ees  it  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  when  I  come  aboard,  you  pi 
rate."  He  came  over  in  his  dory,  stepped  over 
the  rail,  and  approached  the  bewhiskered  man. 
"  Now  then,  Mosseer,  what  are  you  doing 
here  ? " 

"Vat?" 

"Vat?  Don't  you  vat  me.  What  are  you 
doing  here,  I  say.  At  what  port  did  you  enter  ? 
Where  are  your  papers  ?  Let  me  see  them. 
Don't  you  stand  there  and  grin  at  me — get  your 
papers.  Do  you  understand? — your  papers — 
pa-a-pers — pa-a-a-pers,  do  you  understand?  I 
am  the  Collector  of  Customs  at  Good  Hope." 

"  I  spik  no  Anglish,  Your  Highness." 

"You  don't?  Does  nobody  speak  English 
here  ? " 

"  Nobody  ?  Oui,  oui.  One — -ho — ho — Jane, 
215 


Clancy 

attenday.  Your  Highness,  Jane  comes  soon  and 
spiks."  The  French  skipper  bowed  low. 

"  Hah — Jane !  Women  aboard,  you  licentious 
pirate,  with  your  big  beard  and  gaudy  red  shirt 
and  cap — Jane,  hay  ?  " 

"  Oui,  oui — Jane — Come  queek,  Jane.  Oh — 
Cord-ong  bloo — come  queek.  Hees  Highness, 
he  waits.  Queek,  Jane — queek." 

"  Oui,  oui,  mon  capitaine — one  mo-ment.  Que 
voulez-vous — what  weesh  you,  mon  capitaine  ?  " 
A  voluble  fellow  was  he  who  now  bounced  up 
out  of  the  fo'c's'le  and  came  running  along  the 
deck  to  the  group  on  the  quarter. 

To  him  the  collector  turned.  "  So  you're 
Jane,  hah?" 

"  Oui,  Your  Highness,  Jane — Jean — as  you 
say.  I  am  the  cook." 

"  The  cook,  eh  ?  Well,  tell  this  captain  of 
yours  that  I  am  the  Collector  of  Customs  at 
Good  Hope — Wellington  Spriggs,  Collector  of 
Customs,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe,  good  rea 
son  to  believe,  that  he  has  not  registered  at  any 
port  in  Newfoundland — that  he  has  not  paid  the 
tonnage,  and  is  therefore  getting  bait  in  defiance 
of  the  law — of  the  law — of  the  law  of  Newfound 
land — in  defiance  of  the  law  of  Great  Britain. 
Tell  him  that.  Wait,  tell  him  first  I  want  to  see 
his  papers — that  will  settle  it.  If  he  has  cleared 

216 


Clancy 

in  any  of  our  ports  he  must  have  the  collector's 
receipt  for  his  tonnage  tax,  and  he  must  have  his 
ship's  papers,  anyway." 

"  Ah-h — pa-pairs.  It  ees  the  documents  you 
weesh — ah-h.  O  yes.  Mon  capitaine — "  the 
cook  turned  to  his  commander — "  le  gentilhomme 
— Hees  Highness — veut  voir — wish  to  see — les 
documents — the  pa-pairs." 

"  Yes,  his  papers,"  broke  in  the  collector, 
"and  show  them  quick,  tell  him,  or  I'll  take  him 
into  custody  now — now.  Do  you  hear? — now. 
I  shall  take  him  at  once  to  Placentia  and  from 
there  telegraph  to  Saint  John's  to  have  the  cutter 
come  and  seize  this  vessel  and  put  you  all  in 
jail — in  jail,  do  you  hear?  Tell  this  pirate  cap 
tain  of  yours  with  the  whiskers — tell  him  that. 
Yes,  I  mean  you  " — he  glared  at  the  whisk 
ered  captain.  "  Don't  you  show  your  teeth  at 
me." 

Mr.  Spriggs  stamped  his  foot  and  shook  his 
fist  at  the  French  captain,  who  drew  himself  up 
with  great  dignity.  "  Je  ne  comprong,  sair — no 
understand,  sair — "  and  to  his  cook,  "Jane, 
queek,  queek — vat  says  thees  gentle-home — gen 
tle-home — bah  !  " 

"  II  dit,  mon  capitaine,  qu'il  veut  voir  les  doc 
uments — the  pa-pairs." 

"  Vooly-he  to  see  mon  pa-pairs,  Jane  ?  " 
217 


Clancy 

"  Oui,  oui,  mon  capitaine." 

"  Direz-voo  to  heem,  Jane — no.  Non !  Vouly- 
voo  tang  say  mong  coor,  je  vooz  arm,  biang 
mang,  ploo  belle,  mong  doo,  quee-see-neer,  cord- 
ong  bloo,  cord-ong  bloo,  sackray  blur — sack-r-r-ay 
blur  I  say — whoop-ee — ein — zwei — drei — certain- 
mong — skaal,  slainte,  prosit — mong  pa-pairs — 
ness  pah,  Jane  ?  " 

"  Oui,  oui,  mon  capitaine — oui,  oui." 

"  Ah,  ah,  say  to  heem,  Jane — say  to  the  gen 
tle-home,  Jane — go  to  the  dev-eel,  go  to  the 
dev-eel,  Jane — go  to  the  dev-eel." 

"  What !  "  whooped  the  collector,  "  what !  To 
my  face,  too,  you  pirate — to  my  face  !  " 

"Yes,  sair — to  your  fass.  You  do  not  like? 
Then  go  to  the  hell,  Mistair — Mistair — kell  ay 
votre  nom — cochon — peeg.  Go  to  the  deveel, 
sair — to  the  hell,  I  say — dam — dam." 

"  Oh-ho,  that's  it,  is  it?  I'll  soon  have  you 
fixed.  You'll  come  with  me  to  Placentia,  and  in 
short  order,  too.  I'll  telegraph  to  Saint  John's  for 
the  cutter.  I'd  telegraph  this  minute  if  there 
was  a  station  here.  We  shall  see,  we  shall  see, 
sir.  In  the  morning  we  shall  be  in  Placentia. 
Tell  your  captain,  you — you,  you  interpreter — 
tell  him  we  leave  for  Placentia  at  once — at  once. 
I  shall  stay  aboard  to  see  that  he  goes  there.  I 
am  now  in  charge  of  this  schooner.  My  own 

218 


Clancy 

schooner  will  go  along  with  us.  You  understand, 
Frenchy  ?  Compronnay  voo  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sair."  The  cook  turned  to  the  captain 
and  started  to  translate  the  collector's  speech,  but 
that  impetuous  character  burst  forth  before  the 
cook  had  finished,  "  Ha,  je  dee,  it  ees  oon  out- 
raj  h — oon  out-r-r-a-a-jh." 

"  It  is  the  law,"  returned  the  collector,  majesti 
cally.  "  It  is  the  law — the  law  of  England— of 
Great  Britain.  To  defy  it  is  to  defy  the  flag — 
the  British  Empire  itself.  Go  you  " — he  waved 
a  hand  to  the  men  who  had  rowed  him  from  the 
Sleepless  to  the  Marguerite — "  go  you  to  the 
Sleepless  and  tell  Captain  Harvey  to  follow  on 
behind.  I  stay  aboard  to  see  that  no  evidence  is 
destroyed,  and  that  my  wishes  are  obeyed." 


IV 


With  Collector  Spriggs  on  her  quarter,  arms 
folded,  the  Frenchman  sailed  out  of  Folly  Cove. 
Clearing  the  point  thatjutted  into  the  little  bit  of 
water  running  out  of  the  cove,  the  Frenchman,  by 
the  collector's  direction,  hauled  up  and  laid  her 
course  for  Placentia  across  the  bay.  Less  than 
a  cable's  length  astern  followed  the  Sleepless. 
Standing  on  her  after-deck,  Captain  Harvey,  the 

219 


Clancy 

collector's  right-hand  man,  followed  every  move 
of  the  Frenchman. 

"  Placentia,  sure  enough,"  observed  Captain 
Harvey  to  the  man  at  the  wheel.  "  We'll  be 
there  nicely  in  the  morning.  Yes,  sir,  even  with 
this  light  breeze  we'll  be  to  Placentia  in  the 
morning." 

The  sun  by  this  time  was  beginning  to  drop 
below  the  high  hills  astern,  and  the  sails  of  the 
Frenchman,  though  she  was  not  more  than  a 
cable's  length  ahead,  had  already  begun  to  merge 
into  the  haze  of  a  blue  dusk.  Captain  Harvey, 
noting  this,  said  :  "  I  think  we'd  do  well  to  get 
up  abreast  of  that  fellow.  We  want  to  be  able  to 
see  her  lights,  so's  we  can  keep  right  close  when  it 
gets  darker." 

That  was  plainly  the  opinion  of  everybody 
aboard  the  Sleepless,  but  when  it  came  to  putting 
the  plan  into  execution  they  found  it  was  not  so 
easy.  The  Frenchman  was  drawing  ahead. 

"  Who'd  ever  think  a  vessel  loaded  so  deep 
could  beat  us  in  this  light  breeze,  and  her  with 
only  her  lower  sails  on  ?  " 

"  Seems  to  me  I  can  make  out  her  tops'l  set," 
volunteered  one  of  the  crew. 

"What?  But  maybe  so,  too.  Maybe  Mister 
Spriggs  is  getting  impatient,  but  wouldn't  you 
think  he'd  sing  out  to  us  first.  First  thing  we 


220 


Clancy 

know  she'll  be  slipping  away,  and  there  they'll  be 
in  Placentia  long  before  we  are,  maybe.  I  think 
we'd  better  get  word  to  him.  Drop  the  dory 
over,  two  of  you,  and  row  to  him.  It's  a  light 
breeze  yet  and  you'll  have  no  trouble  ketching 
her.  Go  ahead  and  ask  Mister  Spriggs  some 
thing  about  it — get  more  instructions." 

Two  men,  putting  off  in  the  dory,  were  soon 
clear  of  their  own  vessel  and  gaining  on  the 
Frenchman.  But  they  had  yet  half  the  distance 
to  make  when  it  began  to  breeze  up  a  trifle.  Not 
much  of  a  wind  as  yet,  but  enough  to  render 
futile  the  efforts  of  the  men  in  the  dory. 

"She's  leaving  us,"  said  one  of  them. 

"  She  cert'nly  is,"  rejoined  the  other. 

"  Yes,  and  it  seems  to  me  she's  got  her  sheets 
eased  off  pretty  free  for  a  vessel  going  to  Placen 
tia.  Don't  it  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  that,  too — pretty  well  to  the 
south  she's  heading.  I  think  you'd  better  hail 
her." 

"  All  right.  Ahoy — Mis-ter  Spriggs — a-ho-o-y 
there  —  the  Marguerite.  A-ho-o-y  —  Mis-ter 
Spriggs — a-ho-o-y — the  Mar-guer-i-i-te." 

No  answer. 

"  Maybe  they  don't  understand  English. 
Can't  you  ahoy  in  French  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  in  French  P  " 

221 


Clancy 

"  I  dunno,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No.  But  that  cook  they  got  ought  to  un 
derstand  English." 

"  Yes,  but  maybe  he's  below  getting  supper  or 
something." 

"  That's  so.  But  Mister  Spriggs  oughter 
heard." 

"  Yes,  but  maybe  he's  below  too,  talking  to 
the  French  captain." 

"  That's  so,  too.     Well,  let's  hail  him  again." 

Again  they  hailed,  both  of  them,  but  no  an 
swer  came  back.  They  hailed  a  third  time,  and, 
still  getting  no  answer,  dropped  back  alongside 
the  Sleepless,  climbed  aboard,  and  reported. 

"  H-m — "  grunted  Captain  Harvey,  "  h-m — 
but  that's  funny.  Do  our  sidelights  show  clear 
there  forward  ?  " 

"  Clear,  sir,"  answered  the  watch. 

"  Clear,  eh  ?  H-m —  I'm  sure  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  it  all.  I  don't  understand  her 
swinging  off  so  far  to  the  south'ard.  Go  into 
the  fore-rigging,  one  or  two  of  you,  and  hold  her 
in  sight's  long  as  you  can." 

They  tried  to  hold  her  in  sight,  but  it  was 
only  a  short  time  before  they  were  unable  to 
make  out  even  the  shadow  of  her  sails.  The 
captain  of  the  Sleepless,  thinking  it  over,  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  his  superior  had  some  inex- 

222 


Clancy 

plicable  reason  for  changing  his  course.  At  any 
rate  he  himself  had  his  orders  to  take  the  Sleep 
less  to  the  port  of  Placentia.  Doubtless  Mr. 
Spriggs  would  tell  them  all  about  it  in  the  morn 
ing.  Certainly  he  himself  could  do  no  more 
than  abide  events.  At  his  usual  hour,  therefore, 
he  might  just  as  well  turn  in,  which  he  did,  and 
slept  soundly.  In  the  early  morning  he  awoke 
refreshed,  ascended  to  the  deck  and  cast  a  cheer 
ful  look  into  the  mists  about  him. 

"No  sight  or  sound  of  her  ?  "  he  queried  of 
the  man  at  the  wheel. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  That's  queer  now.  But  no  it  ain't  either. 
If  she's  been  ahead  of  us  all  night,  she's  probably 
in  the  harbor  now.  Let's  see.  We'll  be  in  there 
ourselves  in  another  half-hour  and  then  we'll  see 
her,  if  we  haven't  passed  her  in  the  night.  None 
of  the  watch  didn't  report  passing  any  sail  in  the 
night,  did  they  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Oh,  well.  Soon's  we're  in  the  harbor  and  it 
comes  light  we'll  see." 

They  made  the  harbor  and  in  due  time  the 
sun  arose  and  it  became  broad  light.  The  cap 
tain  and  the  crew  of  the  Sleepless  gazed  ahead. 
No  Frenchman  there  certainly.  Nor  behind,  no 
— nor  to  either  side.  They  went  ashore,  climbed 

223 


Clancy 

the  highest  eminence  on  the  near-by  hills  and 
gazed  afar.  No  Frenchman.  "  It's  queer  now, 
ain't  it  ?  "  said  the  captain  of  the  Sleepless. 

During  that  day  the  crew  of  the  Sleepless  kept 
unceasing  watch.  During  the  night  that  fol 
lowed  they  also  kept  watch.  Through  all  the 
next  day  they  stood  expectant,  and  throughout 
the  long  night  that  followed  their  vigilance  never 
slackened.  At  any  moment  the  Frenchman  might 
come  in  with  their  chief  aboard.  Daybreak  found 
them  still  standing  watch.  But  the  Frenchman 
came  not,  nor  any  word  of  her. 

On  the  morning  of  this  day,  the  third  day  of  his 
chief's  mysterious  absence,  the  captain  of  the  Sleep 
less  began  to  have  the  gravest  kind  of  doubts. 
Suppose  the  Frenchman  had  gone  astray  ?  Just 
where  she  might  have  strayed  to  Captain  Harvey 
could  not  clearly  state.  He  was  puzzled.  He 
was  not  a  morbidly  imaginative  man,  but  he  was 
beginning  to  have  an  idea  by  this  time  that  some 
thing  had  happened  to  Mr.  Spriggs. 

He  telegraphed  to  half  a  dozen  places  in  the 
bay  and  waited  patiently  the  entire  forenoon  for 
the  answers.  He  even  telegraphed  to  Saint 
John's.  "  Maybe  he  took  her  to  Saint  John's," 
Captain  Harvey  had  said  to  the  telegraph  opera 
tor — the  whole  port  was  in  his  confidence  now. 
"  You  can't  always  tell  about  Mister  Spriggs. 

224 


Clancy 

Sometimes  he's  as  deep  as  that  five-mile  hole 
out  in  the  Atlantic.  Maybe  he  took  her  to  Saint 
John's.  You  can't  tell,  can  you  ?  " 

The  operator  agreed  that  a  man  never  could 
tell  and  suggested  a  telegram  of  inquiry  to  Saint 
John's.  The  mate  also  said  you  couldn't  always 
tell  about  Mister  Spriggs.  "  Maybe  he's  at 
Saint  John's — straight  to  head-quarters.  The 
Lord  knows  he's  gone  long  enough." 

To  these  two  Captain  Harvey  listened  hope 
fully,  and  so  it  came  that  he  telegraphed  to  Saint 
John's.  But  from  there  as  elsewhere  it  was  always 
the  same  reply — "  No  word  of  Collector  Spriggs 
of  Good  Hope,  nor  of  a  strange  vessel  loaded 
with  herring  and  hailing  from  Saint  Pierre,  Ameri 
can  built  and  with  a  French  crew — no  word." 

Then  Captain  Harvey  cleared  his  decks  for 
action.  He  started  on  a  cruise  for  the  French 
man.  During  what  was  left  of  that  day,  through 
all  of  that  night,  through  all  the  next  day  and  all 
the  night  after,  he  hunted  Placentia  Bay  from 
Good  Hope  to  the  port  of  Placentia  and  across 
to  the  southward.  He  held  up  everything  that 
hove  in  sight — dories,  skiffs,  jacks,  American  fish 
ermen  and  coast  steamers.  Had  they  seen  Mis 
ter  Spriggs,  Collector  of  Customs  of  Good  Hope, 
or  an  American-built  vessel,  Gloucester  model, 

with  a  French  crew  aboard — her  skipper  a  man 

225 


Clancy 

with  a  lot  of  black  hair  and  black  beard  and  a 
red  shirt  and  red  cap,  who  could  talk  a  little 
broken  English  ? 

No,  they  hadn't — no  vessel  of  that  model  with 
a  skipper  with  that  queer  kind  of  rigging.  In 
despair  Captain  Harvey  put  for  home.  "  We've 
done  our  best,"  said  he,  "  we've  done  our  best. 
All  we  can  do  now,  so  far's  I  c'n  see,  is  to  lay 
our  course  for  Good  Hope  and  break  it  to  his 
family." 


The  Sleepless,  returning  from  her  unsuccessful 
cruise  after  Collector  Spriggs,  and  with  her  crew 
decidedly  perplexed,  was  about  to  round  the 
northern  point  of  the  entrance  to  the  harbor  of 
Good  Hope,  when  into  view,  from  around  the 
southern  point,  came  an  American  fisherman, 
which,  Captain  Harvey  soon  saw,  desired  to 
speak  him. 

"  Good  Lord ! "  he  ejaculated,  while  the  two 
vessels  were  yet  quite  a  little  distance  apart,  "  if 
that  ain't  Mister  Spriggs  standing  there  forward  ! 
— see  him  ?  " 

At  sight  of  their  chief  the  men  of  the  Sleepless 
marvelled  with  their  captain.  They  did  not  cheer 
— Mr.  Spriggs  was  not  the  kind  of  man  at  sight 

226 


Clancy 

of  whom  subordinates  rose  up  and  cheered — but 
they  were  glad  to  see  him  now.  His  reappear 
ance  relieved  a  great  suspense,  and  the  explanation 
that  he  would  doubtless  make  promised  to  solve 
a  most  puzzling  mystery. 

The  collector,  with  solemn  port,  stepped  aboard 
his  own  vessel.  He  was  followed  over  the  rail  by 
an  able-looking  man  with  a  red  cap  on  his  head, 
a  lump  on  his  temple,  and  two  bottles  of  wine 
under  his  arm.  The  crew  of  the  Sleepless  had 
never  to  their  knowledge  seen  this  big  man  before, 
but  they  knew  him  for  an  American  despite  that 
red  cap,  which  was  plainly  of  Saint  Pierre  make. 

"  Mister  Clancy,"  said  Collector  Spriggs,  turn 
ing  to  the  stranger,  "let  me  introduce  Captain 
Harvey — Captain  Harvey,  Mister  Clancy." 

"  Glad  to  know  you,  Captain.  When'd  you 
get  in  ?  "  said  Mr.  Clancy  gravely. 

"Just  arrived,"  answered  Captain  Harvey. 

"And  my  crew,  Mister  Clancy."  The  col 
lector  waved  an  arm  that  included  the  whole  deck. 

"  Glad  to  know  you."  Mr.  Clancy  genially 
waved  an  arm — the  free  arm — that  also  embraced 
the  whole  deck. 

"  Mister  Clancy  saved  my  life,"  said  the  col 
lector,  in  the  tone  of  an  orator  before  an  audience. 
"  If  it  were  not  for  Mister  Clancy  I  would  now 
be  on  the  bottom  off  Galantry  Head  in  seventy- 

227 


Clancy 

five  fathoms  of  water.  Wouldn't  I,  Mister 
Clancy?" 

"  Seventy-two,  if  the  charts  are  right,"  replied 
Mr.  Clancy. 

"  Hard  and  fast  on  a  rock  the  vessel  went,  with 
the  waves  breaking  over  her.  It  was  terrible, 
wasn't  it,  Mister  Clancy  ?  " 

"Awful." 

"  Dreadful — w-h-h —  A  man  could  hardly  have 
a  narrower  escape  and  live  to  go  home  and  tell 
the  tale.  They  can't  imagine  the  danger,  can 
they,  Mister  Clancy  ?  Appalling,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"Appalling?  Lord,  yes — desp'rate.  It  was 
looking  like  life  insurance  gone  over  the  rail — 
that's  what  it  was." 

"  Even  Mister  Clancy's  iron  nerve  was  shaken, 
Captain.  It  was  enough  to  scare  any  man,  wasn't 
it  ?  "  continued  the  collector. 

"  Enough  to  scare  ?  Great  Lord,  I  thought  I'd 
die  of  fright.  My  hair  rose  on  end." 

"  There  !  Harvey,  that  may  give  you  an  idea 
of  it.  But  come  below  with  us,  Captain,  and 
you'll  hear  the  whole  story.  First,  however,  put 
the  Sleepless  on  her  way  to  Captain  Joshua  Brad- 
ley's  vessel,  the  Tubal  Cain.  Where  is  she  now, 
Captain  ?  " 

"  Passed  her  early  this  morning  on  the  way 
here.  She's  about  a  dozen  miles  up  the  bay 

228 


Clancy 

taking  in  herring,"  answered  Harvey.  To  the  man 
at  the  wheel  he  gave  the  course,  then  dropped 
down  into  the  cabin,  where  he  found  Clancy,  who, 
with  one  of  the  bottles  that  he  had  brought  aboard 
placed  carefully  on  the  locker  beside  him,  was 
holding  the  other  firmly  by  the  neck  and  looking 
about  him  with  the  question  :  "  You  haven't  got 
a  corkscrew  handy,  Collector,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Wait — wait —  "  said  the  collector.  "  This  is 
on  me.  I  have  some  stuff  here  that  I  know  you 
will  appreciate."  He  lifted  a  hatch  in  the  cabin 
floor,  and  from  down  in  the  run  passed  up  a  bottle 
of  wine.  "  There — sh-h — don't  let  the  crew  hear 
us." 

"  What's  it  ?  "  whispered  Clancy — "  cassy,  too  ? 
My,  but  you're  a  fox.  No  duty,  I'll  bet.  Come 
now,  duty  or  no  duty  ?  " 

The  collector  laid  a  finger  beside  his  nose. 
"  There's  a  fellow  over  in  Saint  Pierre  named 
Miller — but  don't  you  let  on " 

"  M-m—  "  Clancy  slid  nearer.  "  M-m—  I 
comprong,  as  they  say  in  Saint  Peer." 

"Ah-a —  you  compronnay — we  both  compron- 
nay — don't  we,  eh  ? "  The  collector  dug  an 
elbow  into  Clancy's  ribs.  "  Well,  Miller  and 
myself  understand  each  other — understand  each 
other.  Compronnay-voo  ?  " 

"  Collector,"  said  Clancy,  "  but  you're  a  fox. 
229 


Clancy 

And  to  look  at  you,  who'd  ever  think  it — and 
you  policy  the  French  like  a  native." 

"  Ha-ha —  "  chuckled  the  collector. 

"  You  cert'nly  are  a  fox.  Now  what  chance 
has  a  poor  thick  fisherman  like  myself  got  against 
the  likes  o*  you.  Lord,  I  remember  when  I 
came  down  here  in  a  vessel  of  my  own  twelve 
year  ago,  how  near  I  came  to  gettin'  seized  for 
a  couple  of  little  ten-gallon  kegs  of  red  rum  and 
a  few  cases  of  cassy  that  somebody  said  I  was 
trying  to  smuggle  in  and  you  coming  after  me. 
Now  I  never  was  trying  to  get  anything  through 
without  paying  duty.  Lord,  I  know  better  than 
try  to  get  ahead  of  you,  Collector.  '  Tommie,' 
I  says  to  myself — by  way  of  good  advice,  d'y* 
see  ? — '  Tommie,'  I  says,  '  don't  you  be  advised 
by  men  like  Billie  Simms  and  Tom  O'Donnell 
and  Sam  Adams  and  that  kind.  Don't  you,'  I 
says  to  myself,  *  for  if  Collector  Spriggs  ever  gets 
after  you,  it's  all  over.'  Mind  that  time,  Col 
lector?" 

"  Don't  I  ?  And  I  notice  you  never  did  get 
caught  trying  it  again." 

"  No,  nor  I  didn't  get  caught  that  time  either. 
Why  ?  Because  I  didn't  have  any  to  ketch.  I 
leave  that  kind  of  work  to  them  that  thinks 
they're  smart,  which  I  ain't.  No,  sir,  I  admit  I 
ain't.  But  I  say " — Clancy  gazed  solicitously 

230 


Clancy 

about  him — "  you  haven't  got  a  mug  to  pour  this 
cassy  into,  have  you,  Collector  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have.  Here  you  are.  No,  after 
you." 

"  You,  Captain  Harvey  ?  "  Clancy  pushed 
over  the  mug. 

"  No,  after  you,  Mister  Clancy.'* 

"  Well,  if  you  both  insist.  M-m — but  just  the 
smell  of  it's  good.  Here's  a  shoot." 

The  collector  then  took  a  drink  and  Captain 
Harvey  took  a  drink  and  the  collector  started  to 
tell  the  story  of  his  cruise  on  the  Marguerite,  so 
that  Captain  Harvey  might  know  how  it  was. 

"  After  I  got  aboard  the  Frenchman  up  there 
in  Folly  Cove,"  he  began,  "  everything  was  all 
right  for  a  time  till  that  French  captain — maybe 
you  didn't  get  a  good  look  at  him,  Harvey — the 
big  fellow  with  all  the  whiskers  and  the  lot  of 
hair  and  the  red  shirt  and  red  cap  like  Mister 
Clancy's " 

"  It's  the  same  cap,  Collector — remember  ?  " 
interposed  Clancy. 

"  That  the  Frenchman's  cap ?  How  is  that? " 
inquired  Harvey. 

"  Wait,  Harvey,  wait.  We'll  come  to  that. 
Let  me  tell  it." 

"  Yes,  Captain,  let  the  collector  tell  it — and 
he's  the  man  to  tell!  a  story  proper,  let  me  tell 

231 


Clancy 

you.  Go  on,  Collector.  But  before  you  start, 
s'pose  we  have  a  little  touch — -just  a  little  touch 
of  cassy.  Nothing  like  a  little  wine  to  aid  the 
memory  and  assist  the  imagination.  Now,  then,  a 
little  touch,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  just  a  little,  thank  you,"  said  the  col 
lector.  "  And  just  a  little,  thank  you,"  said  Har 
vey. 

"  And  Mister  Clancy — just  a  little,  thank 
you,"  said  that  able  seaman  softly  to  himself,  and 
slid  it  smoothly  down. 

"  Well,  after  I  was  aboard  a  little  while,"  re 
sumed  the  collector,  "  that  big  captain — he  was  a 
big  fellow,  wasn't  he,  Mister  Clancy  ?  " 

"  Big  ?     My  soul,  yes — a  whale." 

"  'Bout  your  height  and  weight,  wasn't  he, 
Mister  Clancy  ? "  ventured  Captain  Harvey,  as 
one  who  observes  things. 

"  Mister  Clancy's  height  and  weight ! — Great 
Scott,  Harvey,  where  were  your  eyes  ?  As  big 
again  as  you,  wasn't  he,  Mister  Clancy  ?  " 

"  As  big  again  P  Lord,  yes,  and  twice  as  big 
again.  A  reg'lar  whale,  we're  telling  you,  Cap 
tain.  I  don't  guess  you  had  a  good  look  at  him, 
Captain." 

"  No,  maybe  I  didn't.  No,  I  don't  think  I 
did,  come  to  think  of  it  now,"  interposed  Harvey 
hastily. 

232 


Clancy 

"  No,  I  don't  think  you  did,"  commented  the 
collector  severely. 

"  But  where  did  Mister  Clancy  come  in  ? " 
queried  Captain  Harvey,  with  his  forehead  wrink 
ling  under  the  mental  strain. 

"  Now,  Harvey,  let  me  tell  it  and  you'll  see 
where  Mister  Clancy  comes  in." 

"  Yes,  Captain,  you  let  the  collector  tell  it  and 
you'll  see.  I  come  in  later — like  Jack  Harkaway 
we  used  to  read  about  when  we  was  young.  In 
the  nick  o'  time  I  come.  Bing — bing — my  trusty 
revolver  cracks  out  and  two  redskins  bite  the 
dust.  Go  ahead,  Collector — smoke  up." 

"  Well,  that  big  captain  motions  to  me " 

"  — in  French,  was  it,  Collector  ? — make  it  plain 
to  Captain  Harvey,  you  know." 

"Yes,  in — no,  he  just  motions  first  and  then 
he  says " 

"—in  French  ? " 

"  Yes.  f  Permittay-mwaw,'  meaning  '  Allow 
me '  or  f  Come  with  me,'  the  way  they  say  it  in 
French.  He  meant,  c  Allow  me  to  escort  you  to 
the  cabin ' — French  style,  you  know.  So  we 
went  below  and  he  produces  a  bottle." 

"  Cassy,  Collector  ?  Make  it  all  clear  to  Cap 
tain  Harvey." 

"  Cassy,  yes — and  says " 

"Ah,  Collector,  I  know  what  he  said,  I'll  bet." 
233 


Clancy 

Clancy  leaned  genially  toward  Spriggs.  "  Come 
now,  will  you  take  me?  I'll  bet  I  know.  He 
said,  *  Have  a  little  tush  ? '  There,  that's  what 
he  said,  wasn't  it  ?  Ain't  I  right  ?  Of  course. 
And  so  long  as  it's  on  our  minds,  suppose  we 
have  a  little  touch — -just  one  little  touch."  Clancy 
filled  a  mug  for  the  collector,  who  took  his  drink 
like  a  man  mesmerized,  as  also  did  Harvey. 
Clancy  himself  took  one  that  drained  the  bottle, 
which  he  then  rolled  under  the  stove.  "  There's 
one  dead.  Go  on,  Collector — drive  her." 

"  Well,  to  be  sociable,  you  see,  I  took  a  drink 
— a  small  drink.  And  he  took  a  drink — an 
enormous  drink.  We  had  a  few  more,  four  or 
five,  maybe,  I  taking  moderate  drinks  and  he 
taking  much  larger  ones.  I  foresaw  that  at  the 
rate  he  was  then  going  he  would  soon  have  more 
than  was  good  for  him,  but  I  did  not  foresee  how 
he  would  act  when  he  got  under  the  influence. 
It  was  about  this  time  I  thought  I  heard  a  creak 
ing  as  if  they  were  hoisting  sails  and  paying  out 
sheets,  but  I  wasn't  quite  sure.  However,  no 
matter  about  that,  the  big  French  captain  kept 
getting  drunker  and  drunker.  He  got  so  drunk 
at  last  that  he  finally  insisted  on  waltzing  with  me. 
Well,  I  knew,  you  understand,  we  couldn't  do 
much  waltzing  in  a  fisherman's  cabin — and  a 
stove  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  too.  But,  merely 

234 


Clancy 

to  humor  him,  of  course,  I  pretended  to  waltz 
with  him,  and  we  waltzed  till  we  knocked  the 
stove  over." 

"  Oon,  doo,  traw, 
Balance  like  mwaw," 

hummed  Clancy. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  exclaimed  the  collector,  gaz 
ing  at  Clancy  in  surprise.  "  How'd  you  know 
that  ? " 

"How?  Don't  you  mind  me  being  in  the 
hold  jammed  up  against  the  cabin  bulkhead  ? 
Don't  you  mind  me  telling  you  about  that  com 
ing  over  in  Billie  Simms's  vessel  ?  " 

"That's  so.     I  forgot  that." 

"  What's  chat  ? "  asked  Captain  Harvey. 
"  Mister  Clancy  aboard  the  Frenchman  ?  " 

"  Now,  Harvey,"  rejoined  the  collector,  "  if 
you'll  compel  yourself  to  listen,  maybe  I'll  get 
through  with  my  story." 

"  Hush,  Captain,  hush,"  said  Clancy.  "  Let 
the  collector  tell  it.  And  if  Captain  Harvey 
speaks  again,  Collector,  I'll  gag  him.  Your 
wheel,  Collector,  and  drive  her." 

"Well,  when  the  stove  went  over,  the  ashes 
fell  out  and  scattered  all  over  the  floor,  and  that 
seemed  to  make  the  French  captain  mad  all  at 
once.  He  began  to  swear  frightfully  in  his  own 
language,  and  I,  seeing  that  trouble  might  ensue, 

235 


Clancy 

started  to  go  up  on  deck.  It  was  my  idea,  you 
see,  to  call  out  to  you  on  the  Sleepless  to  come 
aboard  with  your  crew.  But  he  anticipated  me. 
I  think  now  that  he  was  too  cunning  to  allow  me 
to  do  that,  in  spite  of  the  liquor  that  was  in  him. 
At  any  rate  he  got  to  the  companion-way  before 
me  and  said  something  to  the  man  at  the  wheel — 
no,  he  didn't  say — he  motioned,  and  they  drew 
the  slide  over  the  companion-way  tight.  That 
made  it  pretty  dark  in  the  cabin.  You  may  re 
member  it  was  nearly  night  when  I  went  aboard. 
Now,  with  the  cabin  dark,  I  began  to  think  that 
this  fellow,  not  being  able  to  see  very  well,  would 
forget  all  about  me,  perhaps  fall  asleep  and  let 
me  go  to  sleep  too,  for  I  was  beginning  to  feel 
drowsy. 

"  But  no.  He  was  cunning,  as  they  say  mad 
men  are  quite  frequently  in  their  frenzies.  He 
lit  the  binnacle  lamp  and  then  the  cabin  lamp 
and  started  to  look  around  for  me.  I  was  in  the 
port  after  bunk  by  this  time,  up  beneath  the  over 
hang,  and  I  thought  he  wouldn't  notice  me,  but 
he  did.  *  A-ha-a — '  he  began,  and  mark  the 
fiendish  cruelty  of  the  monster  to  use  his  few 
English  words  so  as  make  me  the  better  under 
stand  his  awful  intentions.  '  I  keel  you,  I  keel 
you.'  Just  to  hear  him  say  that,  in  the  way  he 
said  it — it  would  freeze  any  man's  blood  just  to 

236 


Clancy- 
hear  him.  He  went  over  to  a  locker  on  the 
other  side  of  the  cabin,  and,  lifting  the  cover,  be 
gan  to  rummage  around.  ( I  get  axe  and  keel 
heem — the  dam  Anglishman — '  he  kept  mutter 
ing  to  himself.  I  don't  think  he  intended  me  to 
hear  those  words  about  the  axe,  but  I  did — my 
ears  are  sharp.  I  saw  the  horrible  doom  that 
was  awaiting  me,  for  I  knew  that  I  didn't  have 
one  chance  in  a  thousand  with  that  inhuman 
monster.  But  even  then  I  kept  my  wits  about 
me  and  looked  around  for  a  chance  to  escape.  I 
saw  the  door  of  the  lazaretto  wide  open — almost 
beside  my  bunk  it  was — and  so,  while  he  was 
hunting  in  his  drunken  way  for  the  axe,  I  slipped 
out  of  the  bunk  and  into  the  lazaretto,  took  the 
key  out  the  door,  drew  the  door  to  after  me — 
noiselessly — and  locked  it.  It  was  lucky  for  me 
that  the  lazaretto  locked  that  way.  I  found  a 
coil  of  rope  inside  and  rolled  it  against  the  door 
and  then  braced  myself  against  the  rope.  Then 
I  heard  the  big  brute  lumbering  back  and  groping 
in  the  bunk  for  me.  f  Where  you — where  you — 
come  out  here,  sair — '  I  could  hear  him  plain's 
could  be.  *  Come  out  here,  sair — you  dam 
Anglishman — come  out  here,  sair,  for  I  keel  you 
— come  out.'  Well,  I  heard  him  groping  about 
for  a  long  time  before  it  seemed  to  occur  to  him 
that  I  wasn't  in  the  bunk.  I  began  to  get  a 

237 


Clancy 

chill  then,  expecting  every  minute  to  hear  the 
axe  come  crashing  through  the  lazaretto  door. 
But  it  didn't.  It  strikes  me  now  that  it  was  a 
peculiar  thing  that  he  never  happened  to  think 
that  I  might  be  inside  the  lazaretto.  But  it  is  a 
fact  that  it  didn't  seem  to  occur  to  him.  But  he 
began  to  feel  in  all  the  other  bunks  for  me.  I 
could  hear  him  plainly  even  with  the  door  of  the 
lazaretto  locked.  Well,  he  didn't  find  me  in  any 
of  the  other  bunks,  of  course,  and  lumbering 
around  the  cabin,  probably  very  much  puzzled 
by  my  sudden  disappearance,  he  must  have  stum 
bled  against  the  cabin  steps  and  thereby  got  an 
idea  in  his  head.  Anyway,  as  if  it  had  just  oc 
curred  to  him,  he  muttered,  {  A-ha — he  go  on 
the  deck — oop  on  the  deck  he  go  and  lock  me 
down  here — ah,  dam  Anglishman.'  He  began 
to  holler  then — to  the  man  at  the  wheel,  I  imag 
ine — '  Henri,  Henri — '  till  the  slide  over  the 
companion-way  was  pushed  back.  Then  I  could 
hear  his  heavy  feet  pounding  the  deck  over  my 
head  and  his  curses  and  the  stumbling  of  his  big 
boots  as  he  went  forward. 

"  Well,  I  was  somewhat  worried,  I  admit  it 
now.  Naturally  anyone  would  be,  but  I  never 
lost  my  head.  Though  I  saw  no  more  of  the 
French  captain — I  heard  him  though,  as  I  will 
tell  you  later — I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  was 

238 


Clancy 

f 

not  out  of  danger  by  any  means,  and  I  stuck  to 
my  hiding-place.  All  that  long  night,  wide 
awake,  I  lay  in  the  lazaretto.  They  kept  coming 
and  going  in  the  cabin.  1  was  wondering  all  the 
time  how  the  crew  accounted  for  my  disappear 
ance,  but  a  remark  dropped  by  one  of  them  en 
lightened  me.  One  of  them  said — and  judging 
by  the  way  their  voices  came  to  me  they  must 
have  been  sitting  around  the  stove  at  the  time — 
'  I  see  not  Mistair  Spriggs,'  said  he.  f  Ho,  ho,' 
says  another,  '  le  capitaine  put  heem  under  the 
floor,  so — s-q-q-wik — '  I  shuddered.  He  meant 
to  imply  that  the  captain  had  cut  my  throat  and 
stowed  my  dead  body  down  in  the  run.  That 
may  give  you  an  idea,  Captain  Harvey,  of  the 
kind  of  a  man  the  big  French  captain  was  and  of 
the  kind  of  a  crew  he  had.  He  was  a — what  was 
it  you  called  him  in  Captain  Simms's  cabin  when 
we  were  coming  over  ?  " 

"  Blue-beard  ?  "  suggested  Clancy. 

"  That's  it — Blue-beard.  That's  just  the  name 
for  him." 

"  But  wasn't  you  feeling  hungry  all  the  time  ?  " 
queried  Captain  Harvey. 

"After  the  first  day  and  night,  yes.  But  I'll 
tell  you  how  fortunate  I  was  about  food.  At 
night  they  were  in  the  habit  of  bringing  food  and 
wine  back  in  the  cabin  to  eat  before  turning  in. 

239 


Clancy 

They  always  brought  more  than  they  could  eat, 
you  see,  and  after  they  were  asleep  and  the  lamp 
turned  low  I  would  steal  out  and  get  some  of 
what  was  left  on  the  lockers — bread,  cheese,  sar 
dines  and  wine.  They  never  noticed  mornings 
that  any  of  their  food  was  gone. 

"  Well,  things  went  along  so  until  the  third 
night.  It  was  well  after  midnight  but  yet  far 
from  morning,  as  I  have  since  estimated,  when  I 
was  awakened  by  an  awful  stamping  on  the  deck 
over  my  head,  and  the  rudder  post  behind  me 
beginning  to  creak  and  the  vessel  to  heel  over. 
I  was  directly  under  the  wheel,  you  see.  Well, 
I  couldn't  swear  to  what  they  were  saying  very 
well,  for  they  were  shouting  in  French,  with  only 
a  word  or  so  in  English  occasionally,  but  I  could 
make  out  the  big  captain's  voice  every  now 'and 
then — 'twas  he,  I  think,  was  speaking  the  Eng 
lish  words.  Whatever  it  was,  it  didn't  last  long. 
Two  or  three  of  them  seemed  to  be  coming  aft 
on  the  run,  and  then  there  was  a  sudden  flurry, 
and  blows  and  curses  and  bodies  falling.  l  They're 
killing  somebody,'  I  said  to  myself.  I  was  still 
wondering  what  it  was  all  about,  when  all  at  once 
the  vessel  shoved  up  forward  and  the  bottom 
planks  were  scraping  the  rocks.  She  lifted  once, 
twice,  again  and  again — began  to  pound — and 
then  the  water  began  to  come  through  her.  I 

240 


Clancy 

could  hear  it — I  could  feel  it — it  was  swashing 
on  the  cabin  floor.  Instantly  I  realized  my 
danger  and  jumped  for  the  lazaretto  door,  and 
was  about  to  turn  the  key  and  get  out  and  take 
chances  with  the  big  captain  even  rather  than 
stay  there  and  drown  like  a  rat,  when  I  heard 
somebody  drop  down  the  companion-way  and 
swash  around  in  the  water  that  was  pouring  into 
the  cabin.  I  heard  a  voice — it  was  the  voice  of 
the  big  captain.  I  don't  know  what  he  said,  but 
I  knew  his  voice.  And  then  I  heard  him  ap 
proaching — swash — swash — swash —  *  He  has 
found  me  out  and  is  coming  to  finish  me,'  I 
thought.  I  heard  his  hand  on  the  door.  *  Open, 
open,'  he  called.  '  No,'  I  said.  '  Open,'  he 
said  again.  t  No,'  I  said  determinedly,  and  then 
— crash — crash —  *  I'm  gone,'  I  said  to  myself. 
One  more  crash  and  the  door  gave  way,  a  big 
boot  followed  the  door,  and  then — the  head  of 
Mister  Clancy ! " 

"  No  !  "  ejaculated  Harvey. 

"  Yes,  Mister  Clancy — wasn't  it  ?  "  appealed 
the  collector. 

"Yes,  sir — me — Jack  Harkaway — in  the  nick 
o'  time — just  like  I  told  you  would  happen,  Cap 
tain.  Yes,  sir,  me,  and  in  the  nick  o'  time.  And 
when  I  come  to  think  of  it  now,  I  must  say  that 
I  think  it  is  worth  having  a  little  touch  on. 

241 


Clancy 

We'll  open  one  of  mine  now.  Yes,  yes,  Col 
lector,  one  of  mine.  What  do  you  say  now  ? 
A  little  touch,  eh  ?  Just  a  wee  little  touch. 
Why,  of  course.  There  you  are,  throw  that 
into  your  forehold  and  tell  me  if  you  don't  feel 
better." 

VI 

"And  now,  Harvey,"  said  the  collector  when 
they  all  had  a  "little  touch,"  "Mister  Clancy 
will  tell  the  rest,  so  that  you  may  know  how  it 
all  came  out." 

"  Yes,"  said  Clancy,  carefully  setting  the  newly 
opened  bottle  on  end  again,  "  I  will  clear  up 
the  mystery.  First,  I  must  tell  you,  Captain, 
that  all  the  time  Mister  Spriggs  was  under  the 
overhang,  a  prisoner,  as  you  might  say,  I  was  in 
the  after-hold — a  prisoner  too.  You  see,  I'd 
stolen  aboard  the  Marguerite  one  night  when 
she  was  in  Saint  Peer  Harbor.  I'd  been  having 
what  you  might  call  a  little  wine-time  ashore  and 
my  vessel  had  sailed  without  me.  That's  the 
vessel  we're  heading  for  now.  By  the  way, 
oughtn't  we  be  getting  near  it,  Captain  ? " 

"  I've  told  'em  on  deck  to  tell  us  when  we're 
there,"  said  Harvey. 

"  Good.  But  I'd  better  make  a  short  story  of 
242 


Clancy 

it  anyway.  Lemme  see,  where  was  I  ?  Oh,  yes, 
stowin'  myself  aboard  the  Marguerite  at  the  dock 
in  Saint  Peer  Harbor.  Well,  I'd  climbed  aboard 
and  while  I  was  stepping  high,  so's  not  to  wake 
anybody  that  might  be  having  a  kink  in  his  bunk 
below,  I  stepped  over  the  after-hatch  combing 
and  into  the  hold.  She's  got  a  deep  hold,  by 
the  way,  the  Marguerite  has  for  a  vessel  her  size, 
but  why  people  leave  hatches  off  at  night  I  don't 
know.  I  hit  something  hard  down  near  her  bot 
tom  somewhere.  Just  what  it  was  I  don't  know, 
but " 

"  Her  ballast,  maybe,"  suggested  Harvey. 

"  Maybe — or  her  chain  anchor.  Anyway, 
what  it  was  don't  matter.  I  know  it  warn't  lem 
on  jelly.  I  went  down  and  out,  and  when  I  came 
to  again  the  vessel  was  moving  and  I  was  tied 
hand  and  foot  and  a  gag  in  my  mouth.  Of  course, 
being  fixed  like  that  I  couldn't  say  much,  even 
if  I  had  anything  to  say,  which  I  don't  think  I 
did,  being  still  maybe  a  little  bit  foggy  about 
things.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  think  now  that 
I  thought  then  that  I  was  still  asleep  and  that 
when  I  woke  up  I'd  found  myself  back  in  the 
Caffy  Middy  with  the  waiter  girl  bringing  on  an 
other  round  of  cassy. 

"  Well,  by  and  by  a  man  came  along  with  a 
lantern  and  takes  the  gag  out  of  my  mouth  and 

243 


Clancy 

puts  some  grub  alongside  me  and  a  cup  of  coffee, 
and  says, '  Who  you  ? — who  you  ? '  just  like  that, 
savage-like,  '  Who  you  ? ' — kinder  weak  on  Eng 
lish,  y'see." 

"  French  ?  "  suggested  Harvey. 

"  Man,  but  you  do  catch  on  to  things,"  said 
Clancy,  admiringly.  "  That's  it,  French.  1  didn't 
answer,  and  he  says  again, '  Who  you  ?  'Merican, 
Anglish  or  vat  ? '  Then  I  said  I  was  American 
— Gloucester  fisherman.  He  says, '  Oh ! '  Well, 
sir,  that's  all  the  talk  we  had  day  in  and  day  out 
— him  coming  down,  taking  the  gag  out  of  my 
mouth  and  feeding  me  three  times  a  day  for  I 
don't  know  how  many  days.  Ten  days  I  think 
it  must've  been — no  more  talk  than  that  till  the 
night  you  came  aboard,  Mister  Spriggs.  Then 
another  fellow  comes  down,  this  one  a  lad  that 
could  talk  almost  as  good  English  as  myself — 
could  talk  it  as  fast  anyway — a  big,  husky,  black- 
skinned  fellow — the  cook  he  was,  near's  I  could 
make  out." 

"  H-m —  I  know  him,"  broke  in  Harvey  ; 
"  black  fellow,  big  and  heavy — the  interpreter  the 
time  you  boarded  the  Marguerite,  Mister  Spriggs 
— don't  you  remember,  Mister  Spriggs  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  the  cook,  Harvey,"  said  the  col 
lector.  "  Captain  Simms  and  Mister  Clancy  and 
myself  decided  that  point  to  our  satisfaction  on 

244 


Clancy 

the  way  over  from  Saint  Pierre  this  morning.  It 
was  the  cook.  Proceed,  Mister  Clancy." 

"  Well,  the  cook  he  comes  down  this  night 
and  says,  *  Remembair ' — do  you  mind  how  he 
used  to  put  those  'airs'  in,  Collector — cremem- 
bair,'  he  says,  and  I  can  tell  you,  Captain,  he  was 
a  villainous  looking  gazabo,  and  the  Collector 
can  tell  you  too." 

"  If  ever  a  man  had  murder  in  his  eyes,  Har 
vey,  he  was  the  man,"  affirmed  the  collector. 

"  Collector,  you've  certainly  got  him  right. 
It's  just  as  you  say.  If  ever  a  man  had  murder 
in  his  eye,  he  was  the  man.  A  proper  man  for  a 
murderer,  and  the  more  I  think  of  it,  Collector, 
the  more  I  can't  help  thinking  that  it  was  all  a 
plot  now  from  the  start.  You  see,  with  you  out 
of  the  way,  they  could  do  all  the  smuggling  they 
wanted  in  Placentia  Bay." 

"  Woo-o,"  shivered  the  collector. 

"  Yes,  and  with  you  out  of  the  way,  where 
would  the  British  gover'ment  be  ?  Now,  now, 
Collector,  I  know.  I  know  what  all  the  Ameri 
can  fishermen  say.  'He's  a  dog,'  they  says. 
'He's  a  killer  in  his  line — you  can't  get  around 
Collector  Spriggs  of  Good  Hope.  No,  sir.'  Of 
course,  I  don't  pretent  they  don't  cuss  you  out 
pretty  often.  That's  nacheral,  and  you  being  a 
man  that  knows  human  nature  can  hardly  blame 

245 


Clancy 

them  for  that,  now  could  you?  Could  you,  now? 
Be  honest  now,  could  you  blame  our  skippers 
for  cussing  you  out  when  you  get  ahead  of  them 
so  often — could  you  now  ?  " 

"Well,  I  can't  say  as  I  could.  It  is  a  very 
natural  feeling,  Mister  Clancy." 

"  Nacheral  ?  It's  as  nacheral  as  wanting  to  take 
a  drink  when  you're  thirsty.  Well,  to  go  back, 
Captain  Harvey.  This  cook  this  night — the 
night  the  Collector  came  aboard — he  says  going 
away,  '  Remembair — vat  happens  on  thees  sheep 
you  do  not  know — you  do  not  hear — you  do 
not  see.  Remembair — say  notting,  or  you  are 
as  a  dead  mans.  You  say  notting,  hein — hein ' 
— with  his  face  up  to  mine,  and  me  with  a  gag 
between  my  jaws. 

"  Of  course,  I  said  nothing.  A  man  with  half 
a  wet  towel  in  his  mouth  don't  generally  have  too 
much  to  say.  I  only  just  rocked  my  head  fore 
and  aft  like  one  of  them  East  India  idols  that 
bows  fore  and  aft  as  you  put  a  finger  to  'em,  and 
the  cook  he  goes  away.  I  mind  that  night  well, 
for  that  was  the  first  night  I  began  to  see  what 
tough  people  I  was  up  against.  That  was  the 
night,  Collector,  the  French  captain  nigh  did  for 
you  in  the  cabin." 

"  Woo-o — "  shuddered  the  Collector,  "  wasn't 
it  awful?" 

246 


Clancy 

<c  Awful  ?  I  should  say.  Iron  nerves  you 
must  have,  Collector,  to  be  able  to  sit  there  now 
and  listen  to  me  telling  it." 

"  My  friends  say  my  nerve  is  good,"  admitted 
the  Collector. 

"It  cert'nly  must  be.  Do  you  remember  him 
waltzing  around  the  cabin  with  you,  him  going 

'  Oon — doo — traw — 
Balance  like  mwaw. 
You  are  a  daisy 
But  you  have  your  faults. 
Your  right  foot  is  lazy, 
Your  left  foot  is  crazy, 
But  don't  be  un-ais-y 
I'll  tache  you  to  waltz.'  " 

"  Was  that  what  he  was  saying  all  the  time  ?  " 
broke  in  the  collector,  like  a  man  on  whom  a 
mysterious  truth  has  just  dawned.  "Are  you 
sure  ? " 

"  Sure  as  c'n  be.  I  was  tied  up  in  the  after- 
hold  and  gagged,  but  my  ears  were  free  and  I 
could  hear  him  through  the  bulkhead.  And  I 
could  see  you  both  after  awhile  through  a  little 
knot-hole  I  could  just  reach  to  look  through. 
Man,  but  the  crust  of  him  !  whirlin'  you  around 
to  that  kind  of  stuff  and  trying  to  sing  it  in  Eng 
lish  with  an  Irish  brogue — the  crust  of  him — 
the  Irish  brogue  !  " 

247 


Clancy 


"  It  was  impudent,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it." 

"  Impudent  ?  It  was  real  sassy.  Anyway,  the 
second  night  after  that  the  cook  comes  to  me 
again  and  this  time — you  must  mind,  Captain,  I 
told  the  collector  this  on  board  Billie  Simms's 
vessel  on  the  way  over — this  was  the  time,  Cap 
tain,  he  wanted  me  to  do  the  awful  thing.  You'd 
never  guess,  Captain  Harvey,  what  he  wanted  me 
to  do." 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  inquired  Harvey  in  a  whisper. 

"  He  wanted  me  to  kill  the  French  captain." 

"No!" 

"Yes." 

"  What — murder  him  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  that's  what  he  meant.  *  Keel  heem,' 
he  said." 

"  What  awful  people  those  Frenchmen ! " 
ejaculated  Harvey. 

"  Aren't  they  ?  " 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  that,  Mister 
Clancy?" 

"  I  said, '  Nev-air,  nev-air,'  giving  it  to  him  in 
his  own  kind  of  talk,  y'see." 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  but  just  fetched  me  one  with  the 
back  end  of  an  axe  on  the  side  of  the  temple. 
See  that  lump?  Well,  that's  where  the  axe 

bounced  off." 

248 


Clancy 

"  Good  heavens !  A  wonder  you  were  not 
killed  ?  " 

"  Warn't  it  ?  But  you  see  he  didn't  hit  me 
hard  enough.  He  only  just  let  the  weight  of  the 
axe  drop  just  over  my  right  eye.  You've  seen 
a  blacksmith  now,  haven't  you,  Captain,  let  his 
hammer  drop  on  the  anvil — not  pounding  like 
he  was  hammering  horse-shoes  into  shape,  but 
just  a  little  light  crack  in  between  the  real  blows 
— maybe  to  illustrate  an  argument  he's  having 
with  the  loafers  hanging  'round  the  shop,  or 
maybe  only  to  hear  the  old  anvil  ring.  It's  a 
cheerful  sound,  ain't  it,  the  ringing  of  the  ham 
mer  on  the  anvil  ?  Did  you  ever  recite  in 
school — 

'  Oh,  listen  to  the  clanging  of  the  hammer  on  the  anvil — 

Goes  fine,  don't  it?  Well,  this  blacksmith  of 
a  cook  just  let  the  back  end  of  his  axe  clang  on 
my  temple — just  let  it  bounce  off  once  or  twice, 
so  I'd  remember  not  to  forget.  And  I  didn't." 

At  this  point  Clancy  was  interrupted  by  the 
voice  of  one  of  the  crew.  "  Captain  Harvey, 
we're  getting  close  to  the  Tubal  Cain." 

"  All  right,"  answered  Harvey  up  the  com 
panion-way.  "  Put  over  the  dory,  and  have  it 
ready.  Go  on,  Mister  Clancy." 

"  Lemme  see,  where  was  I  ?  " 
249 


Clancy 

"  He'd  just  hit  you  on  the  forehead  with  an 
axe." 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  ain't  it  most  time  for  a  little 
touch  ?  Can't  stop  ?  All  right,  just  as  you  say, 
Captain.  Well,  that  little  tap  threw  me  into 
what,  if  I  was  a  lady,  you  might  call  a  swoon. 
I'd  been  in  a  swoon  yet,  maybe,  but  I  was  awak 
ened  by  a  hollerin'  and  shouting  and  stampin' 
and  cursin'  on  deck,  and  then  the  vessel  laid  over 
like  she  was  being  put  by  the  wind,  and  then 
we  heard  her  'grinding  upon  the  rocks — grind 
ing — grinding  she  went.  Somebody  or  other 
was  thrown  over  the  side — I  heard  him  splash. 
Then  the  water  came  up  through  her  bottom 
where  the  planks  was  gone  and  then  over  her  rail 
and  deck  amidships  and  down  the  hatch.  Well, 
I  began  to  think  that  with  the  water  rushing 
down  there  like  that  the  hold  was  no  place  for 
me,  and  I  got  up  and  climbed  out." 

"  Climbed  out  ? "  ejaculated  Captain  Harvey. 
"  But  wasn't  you  tied  ?  " 

"  Eh — what !" — it  was  Collector  Spriggs  speak 
ing  now,  startled  into  sudden  action  by  Captain 
Harvey's  question.  "  That's  so.  Were  you 
not  tied,  Mister  Clancy  ?  " 

"  Now,  Captain — now,  Collector — wait  and  let 
me  tell  it.  I'll  have  to  hurry,  won't  I,  if  we're  so 
handy  as  your  man  said  to  my  vessel  ?  He  said 

250 


Clancy 

we  was  most  alongside,  didn't  he?  Here,  before 
we  go,  just  a  little  touch  to  finish  up  this  bottle. 
Now,  Collector,  just  a  little  touch.  It'll  never  hurt 
you  in  the  world  ;  nor  you,  Captain.  There  you 
are — throw  that  in — there,  now,  don't  you  feel 
better  already?  Come  now,  don't  you?  Of 
course  you  do.  Where  was  I  ?  Oh,  yes — the 
vessel  upon  the  rocks  and  men  fightin'  on  the 
deck  and  the  sea  pourin'  into  her  hold.  When 
I  got  on  deck,  there  was  the  crew  of  the  French 
man  goin'  off  in  the  dory — I  c'd  just  see  them  in 
the  dark.  And  there  was  a  man's  body  just 
driftin'  by  her  rail  amidships,  with  a  red  cap  with 
tassels  on  it.  It  kind  of  groaned — the  body  did 
— and  I  made  a  grab  for  it,  but  the  tide  carried 
it  by  and  I  only  caught  the  red  cap,  and  that 
came  off.  I  was  bareheaded  myself,  so  I  put  the 
cap  on  my  own  head — this  cap  I'm  wearing 
now." 

"  And  that's  how  you  come  to  be  wearing  the 
French  captain's  cap  ?  I  was  wondering  how  you 
got  it.  So  he's  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Captain  Harvey,  he's  dead." 

"And  a  good  job,"  injected  the  collector,  "a 
good  job.  Go  on,  Mister  Clancy,  and  tell 
Harvey  how  near  I  came  to  being  drowned  in 
the  wreck  of  the  Marguerite." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  was  the  exciting  part.  There 
251 


Clancy 

was  a  dory  astern,  and  I  was  just  going  to  jump 
into  that  and  try  to  pick  up  the  French  captain, 
when  I  happened  to  think  of  Mister  Spriggs  be 
ing  down  under  the  overhang — maybe  locked  in 
and  not  able  to  get  out.  '  Charity  begins  at 
home,'  thinks  I,  and  I  jumps  below  and  tells  him 
what's  happened,  and  we  jumps  in  the  dory  and 
rows  up  Saint  Peer  Harbor  till  we  spy  Billie 
Simms's  vessel,  and  he  takes  us  to  Good  Hope, 
where  we  meets  with  you,  and  there  you  are." 

"Yes,  Harvey,  there  you  are.  It  happened 
just  as  Mister  Clancy  tells  it.  Was  it  not 
wonderful,  and  did  I  not  have  a  narrow  escape, 
Harvey?" 

"  Most  miraculous,"  commented  Harvey. 
"  And  the  French  captain  is  dead  ?  " 

"  Dead,  yes,  and  a  good  thing,"  answered  Col 
lector  Spriggs,  "  for  if  ever  a  brute  sailed  the  sea 
he  was  one.  Just  think  how  he  would  have 
made  way  with  me — killed  me  with  the  axe  in 

the  cabin ! " 

"  Oon — doo — traw — 
Balance  like  mwaw — " 

hummed  Clancy  absently. 

"  Mister  Clancy,  I  wish  you  would  not  sing 
that,"  observed  Spriggs. 

"  Oh,  all  right,  Collector,  only  I  was  thinking 
to  myself  how  lucky  you  were." 

252 


Clancy 

"  Lucky  indeed.  Where  would  I  be  now  only 
I  had  the  wit  to  think  of  getting  under  the  over 
hang  and  stay  there  ?  " 

"  That's  right,  Collector.  You  cert'nly  stood 
by  the  overhang  in  good  shape.  When  I  came 
down  after  she'd  gone  up  on  the  rocks  I  thought 
for  a  minute  we'd  both  be  drowned  there — be 
tween  stopping  to  break  in  the  door  and  rescuin' 
them  two  bottles  o'  cassy.  But  that's  past  now. 
We  made  it,  didn't  we,  Collector  ?  Up  the 
cabin  steps,  and  the  deck  sinking  under  our 
feet.  Over  the  rail  and  into  the  dory  with  us, 
and  then  the  lucky  thing — finding  Billie  Simms 
to  take  us  over,  which  reminds  me  we  need  a 
little  touch,  now  the  story's  ended.  Where's 
that  bottle  ?  O  Lord,  empty  !  Two  dead  " — he 
kicked  it  under  the  stove — "  I've  half  a  mind  to 
open  this  one.  No,  I'll  keep  it  for  Captain  Josh. 
Well,  I'm  off.  It's  a  shame  to  hurry  away  from 
you,  Collector,  and  from  you,  Captain,  with  your 
entertaining  ways,  but  I  know  you  both  want  to 
get  back  to  Good  Hope.  So  good-by.  Good- 
by,  good  luck." 

Clancy  leaped  up  the  cabin-steps  and  onto  the 
deck.  In  four  strides  he  was  in  her  waist. 
"  Where's  that  dory  ?  Oh,  yes  " — he  dove  over 
the  rail  and  into  the  dory.  "  Good-by — good- 
by  " — he  waved  his  last  bottle  of  cassis  back  to 

Ml 


Clancy 


Spriggs  and  Harvey  who  had  just  reached  the 
deck — "  I'll  see  you  at  Good  Hope  en  the  way 
back  to  Gloucester.  So  long,  and  now,  fellows  " 
— he  beamed  on  the  two  men  who  were  rowing 
— "  drive  her,  fellows,  drive  her,  for 

My  captain  calls  and  I  must  go, 

So,  brothers,  row,  row,  row. 

I'll  hang  my  harp  on  a  weeping  willow  tree, 

I'll  take  my  blooming  kit  and  go,  go,  go." 

Clancy's  tuneful,  if  somewhat  husky,  voice 
floated  back  to  Collector  Spriggs  and  Captain 
Harvey  as  they  stood  by  the  rail  of  the  Sleepless 
and  watched  the  dory  flying  toward  the  Tubal 
Cain. 

"  Now,  was  it  not  all  wonderful,  Harvey  ? " 
again  inquired  the  Collector. 

"  Yes,  sir.     You  were  lucky,  Mister  Spriggs." 

"  Wasn't  I  ?  Captain  Simms,  after  hearing  the 
story  on  the  way  over  here  in  his  vessel,  said  it 
was  almost  incredible.  He  said  if  he  hadn't 
known  Mister  Clancy,  known  him  personally  and 
by  reputation,  he  would  not  have  known  what  to 
make  of  it — no,  he  wouldn't,"  he  said. 

"  It  was  wonderful,  Mister  Spriggs.  But  what 
puzzles  me  is  how  Mister  Clancy  got  loose  in 
the  hold  when  he  was  tied  up  so  tight.  I  meant 
to've  asked  him — I  did  ask  him,  now  that  I  think 
of  it,  but  he  forgot  to  answer." 

254 


Clancy 

"  So  he  did,  didn't  he  ?  I  meant  to  ask  him 
that,  too.  I  will  when  I  see  him  again.  But  that 
French  captain  is  dead,  Harvey.  I'd  hardly  be 
lieve  it  only  that  Mister  Clancy  is  in  possession  of 
his  red  cap.  I  know  the  cap.  That's  one  good 
thing,  Harvey — the  French  captain." 

"  Yes,  it's  good  he's  gone.  But  I  wonder  how 
Mister  Clancy  ever  got  loose  in  the  hold  after 
he  was  tied  up  so  tight  and  gagged.  I  wish  he 
hadn't  forgotten  to  explain  that." 

"  Oh,  he'll  explain  that  when  we  see  him  next 
time,"  said  the  Collector,  reassuringly.  "You 
don't  know  Mister  Clancy  like  I  know  him. 
He's  one  of  those  simple,  appreciative  men  that 
you  can't  but  like  after  you  get  to  know  him. 
He  thinks  there's  nobody  like  me." 

VII 

Captain  Joshua  Bradley  was  perplexedly  over 
hauling  some  bills  and  receipts  in  the  cabin  of 
the  Tubal  Cain  when  he  heard  the  scraping  of 
boot-heels  on  deck. 

"  H-m — that's  him."  Captain  Joshua  had 
hardly  grunted  that  when  Clancy,  cheerful  and 
smiling,  dropped  down  the  companion-way. 

One  or  two  things  had  gone  wrong  with  Cap 
tain  Joshua,  and  so  he  found  it  easy  to  meet  his 

255 


Clancy 

returned  scapegrace  with  a  face  that  was  screwed 
up  to  express  what  might  be  considered  a  proper 
degree  of  righteous  reprobation. 

"  By  the  Lord,  Skipper,"  greeted  Clancy,  beam 
ingly,  "  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  When'd  you 
get  in?" 

"  When'd  I  get  in  ?  Go  to — Halifax  with  you. 
How  came  you  to  be  in  the  Collector's  vessel  ? 
Oh,  never  mind  how  I  know.  I  s'pose  you  think 
it  all  right  to  be  messing  with  a  man  that  fined 
me  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  and  threatened  to 
seize  my  vessel,  too — the  thick-headed,  feathery, 
cacklin*  old  hen." 

"  Sh-h — Skipper.  Wait  now  till  I  tell  you. 
I've  got  one  on  the  Collector.  He  seized  my 
vessel,  too." 

"  Your  vessel !  What  in  the  name  o*  Tophet 
are  you  talking  about  ? — your  vessel !  " 

"  My  vessel,  yes,  sir.  You  don't  know.  Of 
course  you  don't  know.  How  could  you — but — 

« Jer  swee  le  capitaine  de  la  Marguerite, 
De  la  Marguerite,  de  la  Marguerite — 
Jer  swee  le  capitaine  de  la  Marguerite, 
My  Marguerite  so  belle  ' — 

"  Oh,  but  wait  now  and  let  me  tell  you.  And 
we'll  open  this  bottle  of  cassy  while  we're  waiting. 
Just  a  second  now  and  we'll  have  a  little  touch — 
just  you  and  me,  Skipper." 

256 


Clancy 

Clancy  seized  a  pair  of  woollen  stockings  that 
were  lying  by  the  fire  and  crowding  them  into  the 
heel  of  the  bottle  began  the  muscular  operation  of 
jolting  the  cork  out  of  the  bottle.  He  never 
ceased  to  talk  during  all  the  time  he  was  doing  it. 
"  Now  let  me  tell  you — in  a  minute  I'll  have  this 
cork  loose — best  cassy  in  Saint  Peer.  Wait  till 
you  get  a  whiff  and  I'll  bet  you'll  be  saying  so, 
too.  If  you'd  be  gettin'  a  mug  ready — of  course 
you've  got  a  mug  handy,  Skipper?  In  your 
stateroom  of  course.  Ought  to  knowed.  There, 
try  that  for  a  throat  gargle.  Ain't  it  all  right  ? 
What  ?  You  bet.  Oh,  no,  I  don't  know  a  thing 
about  cassy  wine.  Oh,  no,  not  a  thing  !  Well, 
when  you  put  out  of  Saint  Peer  that  morning, 
abandoning  me  like " 

"  Abandoning  you  ?  Why,  you  son  of  Ana 
nias,  I  sent  two  men  up  after  you  and  they 
nearly  raised  the  roof  off  Caffy  Middy  till  Miller 
told  'em  they'd  have  to  stop  making  so  much 
noise " 

«  Miller  ? " 

"  Yes,  Miller — the  man  I  bought  my  rum  off 
that  was  afterward  seized  by  old  Spriggs.  And 
who  ever  told  old  Spriggs  I  don't  know,  but  if  he'd 
been  told  by  Miller  he  couldn't  have  been  more 
prompt." 

"He  was." 

257 


Clancy 

"Was  what?" 

"  Told  by  Miller.  Sh-h—  Captain  Josh,  abate 
thy  wrath,  righteous  though  it  be,  and  I'll  tell 
you  how  I  fixed  Miller.  But  first  finish  that  up 
and  let's  have  another  little  touch.  Saved  this 
bottle  for  you  out  the  wreck.  Came  near  losing 
old  man  Spriggs  to  rescue  it  for  you." 

"  What  wreck  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  was  in  a  wreck — me  and  old  man 
Spriggs — and  I  hauled  him  out.  He  was  down 
under  the  overhang  ossified  with " 

"  What !     Old  Spriggs  drunk  ? " 

"  No,  no,  fright.     He'd  got  over  his  drunk." 

"  And  you  saved  him  ?  Why  in  the  name  of 
David  didn't  you  let  him  drown  ? — the  old 
granny." 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  'twouldn't  be  an  awful  loss  to 
the  world.  But  as  'twas  owin'  to  me  he  was 
there  in  the  first  place — and  there  was  his  family. 
Well,  anyway — but  drink  that  up  and  let's  have 
another.  What  do  you  say  now,  Skipper — 
another  little  touch.  Who  was  the  prophet  in  the 
Good  Book  that  said  :  '  A  little  wine  for  thy 
stomach's  sake  ? '  You  mustn't  go  back  on  the 
Good  Book,  you  know.  No,  sir,  not  on  the 
Good  Book.  Come  now,  another  little  touch  ?  " 

"Well,  just  a  little.  M-m —  by  gosh,  but 
that's  good  cassy,  Tommie." 

258 


Clancy 

"Ain't  it  now?  Trust  me — saved  from  the 
wreck  for  you,  Skipper — for  you,  mind.  Well, 
to  go  back.  When  I  came  to  in  the  Caffy  Middy, 
the  first  man  I  met  was  Miller." 

"  I  hope  you  punched  him  P  " 

"  Hoped  I  punched  him,  Captain  Josh  ?  Cap 
tain  Josh,  think  of  the  Bible  lessons  of  your 
youth.  Not  as  1  blame  you  much,  though, 
come  to  think.  Maybe  if  I  knew  as  much  then 
as  I  do  now,  I'd've  soaked  him  good  and 
proper  and  taken  a  chance  with  the  Johnny 
Darmes.  Well,  I  first  thought  of  going  back  to 
Halifax,  but  1  had  only  half  passage.  So  me  and 
Miller  cut  cards  to  see  if  I'd  have  enough  for  my 
passage  or  nothing  at  all.  I  won  and  then  won 
again,  making  me  in  ten  dollars.  That  was  pas 
sage  and  drink  money  over,  but  I  began  to  think 
I'd  like  to  go  in  style.  Yes,  I  thought  I  might 
just  as  well  go  saloon,  and  when  Miller  says, 
'  Twenty  or  nothing  ? '  I  says,  *  All  right.'  We 
cut — me  a  king — him  a  king.  Then  he  cut. 
What  d'y'  s'pose  ?  An  ace  ?  Yes.  *  Tommie,'  I 
says  to  myself,  *  but  there  was  a  most  suspicious 
twirl  to  those  cards.  Tommie,'  says  I,  f  you're 
up  against  it — he's  doing  you,  but  you  can't 
prove  it.'  He  left  me  a  two  to  cut  and  I  was 
broke." 

«  By  the  Lord  !  " 

*59 


Clancy 

"  Yes.  So  he  finding  me  in  the  humor  and  all 
the  time  helping  the  humor  along  with  plenty  of 
cassy — he  just  wetting  his  lips  and  letting  me 
take  'em  down  to  the  heel,  which  I  didn't  object 
to,  being  pretty  thirsty — he  makes  the  offer  that 
I  come  over  here  to  Placentia  and  pick  up  herrin* 
without  paying  the  tonnage  tax.  '  You  get  a 
quartair  of  the  profits,'  says  he.  That  meant  a 
thousand  dollars  to  me  on  a  good  trip.  *  I'll  go 
you,'  says  I,  and  we  fits  out  the  Marguerite  and 
I  comes  over. 

"  We  were  getting  along  all  right  until  Spriggs 
gets  wind  of  it  and  after  a  lot  of  hide  and  seek 
playing  in  and  out  behind  the  rocks  and  coves 
he  corrals  us  up  at  Folly  Cove.  We'd  been 
ashore  to  dances  three  nights  running  and  maybe 
was  a  bit  sleepy  this  day.  Dancing  all  night  and 
drivin'  your  work  all  day — you  can't  keep  it  up, 
Captain  Josh,  can  you  ?  " 

"  You  cert'nly  can't." 

"  That's  what  I  say — now.  Let's  have  a  little 
touch  on  that.  You  do  give  good  moral  advice, 
Captain  Josh.  Here  y'are.  Throw  it  into  you, 
and  here's  a  shoot  on  me.  Well  all  this  time  I 
was  supposed  to  be  a  Frenchman  from  Saint 
Peer.  I'd  a  big  wig  of  hair  and  a  big  brush  of 
beard  and  a  red  shirt  and  cap  to  rig  up  with — 
all  ready  handy  in  case  I  needed  'em — the  red 

260 


Clancy! 

cap  with  a  swell  tassel — you  oughter've  seen  it- 
decorated — gorgeous." 

"  Any  worse  than  the  one  you  got  on  now  ?  " 

"  By  the  Lord,  Captain  Josh,  I  forgot.  This 
is  the  cap,  and  the  shirt — see  here.  I've  been 
buttoned  up  to  the  chin  ever  since,  so's  the  Col 
lector  wouldn't  see — all  the  way  over  with  Billie 
Simms." 

"  H-m —  Billie  Simms.  You  and  him  must've 
told  old  Spriggs  some  fine  yarns  between  you." 

"  Oh,  if  you'd  only  heard  !  *  By  the  Lord/ 
Billie  says  to  the  Collector,  *  if  'twas  anybody  else 
but  my  old  friend  Clancy  told  me  I  wouldn't 
believe  it.  No,  Mister  Spriggs,  I  wouldn't.'  We 
was  telling  the  story  between  us — of  the  cruise  of 
the  Marguerite  —  but  here  and  there  where 
Spriggsy  didn't  know  about  I  was  fillin'  in  the 
gaps — and  Billie  never  letting  a  wink  out  of 
him,  not  a  wink.  {  By  the  Lord,'  Billie'd  say, '  if 
'twas  anybody  else,  Collector,  but  Tommie  Clancy 
was  telling  it,  I  wouldn't  believe  it, — no,  sir.' 

"  Well,  to  go  back.  When  the  Collector  came 
aboard  the  Marguerite  up  in  Folly  Cove  and  he 
begins  to  talk  to  me,  and  me  bein*  a  Frenchman 
by  the  way  and  not  able  to  understand  English, 
has  to  have  a  man  talk  for  me — so  I  sings  out  for 
my  cordong  bloo " 

«  Your  what  ?  " 

261 


Clancy 

"  My  cor-dong  bloo — my  cook.  I  sings  out 
for  the  cook  to  come  and  interpret — interpret, 
mind  you,  Captain  Josh.  And  a  proper  villain 
was  that  same  cook,  but  I  fixed  him  later — 
Miller's  brother,  by  the  way,  Cap." 

"  No  ?  Then  I  "hope  you  killed  him  ?  " 
"  Not  quite.  At  least  there's  no  report  he's 
dead  yet.  But  that  part  comes  later — about  me 
and  the  cook.  The  Collector  and  myself  gets  in 
a  knot  and  finely  he  winds  up  by  sayin'  we  was  in 
custody  and  orderin'  us  over  to  Placentia.  Just 
think  of  ordering  a  man  to  take  his  own  vessel 
over  to  be  soaked  !  The  Lord  only  knows  what 
we  wasn't  going  to  get — to  the  mines,  I  callate. 
"Well,  we  starts  off  with  the  Collector  aboard  and 
his  schooner  and  crew  following  on  behind.  When 
we  were  clear  of  the  cove,  with  a  promise  of 
breezin'  up,  and  by  way  of  bein'  nice  to  the 
Collector,  I  invites  him  into  the  cabin,  where  I 
begins  to  throw  cassy  into  him  and  to  work  on 
his  imagination,  and  I  gets  very  drunk  by  the 
way — I'm  the  French  captain  all  the  time,  mind. 
'  Waltzay-voo,'  I  says — 

'  Oon — doo — traw — 
Balance  like  mwaw.' 

I  starts — and  him  so  rattled — oh,  Lord  !     After 
the  waltz  I  went  hunting  for  an  axe  to  kill  him-  and 

262 


"  Any   worse  than  the  one  you  got  on  now?" 


Clancy 

him,  with  his  hair  standing  up  with  horror,  spies 
the  lazaretto  open,  hops  in  and  locks  the  door. 
Well,  we  put  in  a  lot  of  time  dodging  into  quiet 
coves  and  we  keeps  him  in  there  two  days  and 
three  nights — all  the  time  working  toward  Saint 
Peer — giving  him  a  chance  to  steal  out  nights  and 
get  grub.  It  was  a  sin  and  a  shame,  I  know,  to 
fool  him  like  that,  but  Lord,  he  was  a  proper 
mark ! 

"  Now,  all  the  time  I  was  playing  the  collector, 
the  cook — Miller's  brother — was  playing  me,  and 
it  was  quite  a  while  before  I  was  sure  that  some 
thing  was  wrong.  But  I  put  this  and  that  to 
gether,  and  I  made  out  that  when  we  got  into 
Saint  Peer  I  was  to  get  the  double  cross,  as  they 
say  ashore.  The  quarter  profits  Miller  promised 
me — over  a  thousand  dollars  it  might  have 
been  with  our  load— wasn't  comin',  d'y'  see? 
And  if  I  made  a  holler  I  was  to  be  turned  over 
to  the  Johnny  Darmes  and  slapped  into  the 
lock-up  for  kidnapping  the  collector.  Well, 
when  I  woke  up  to  that  I  was  a  proper  mad 
man,  but  I  kept  it  all  to  myself  till  we  was 
almost  into  Saint  Peer  Harbor.  About  two 
o'clock  in  the  night  it  was  this  time — there  was 
one  man  to  the  wheel,  a  watch  for'ard  and  the 
rest  in  the  fo'c's'le — when  I  goes  to  the  fo'c's'le 
companion-way  and  called  a  couple  of  'em  up. 

263 


'  The  dories/  says  I — c  put  two  over  the  side  and 
let  one  of  'em  drop  astern.'  They  dropped  'em 
over.  *  Now  tell  the  chef  to  come  up.  Tell 
the  quee-see-neer  to  come  up,'  I  says,  and  they 
go  below  and  sends  the  cook  up.  f  Chef,'  says  I, 
t  you've  got  a  roll  of  money  below  and  twelve 
hundred  or  a  thousand  of  it's  comin'  to  me,  and 
I  want  to  be  paid  off.  Your  brother  said  that 
just  as  soon's  I  brought  this  vessel  in  sight  of 
Saint  Peer  Harbor  with  a  load  of  herrin'  I  could 
draw  my  quarter  profits.  Now,  I  might  find  an 
American  vessel  in  the  harbor  and  get  a  passage, 
maybe,  to  Placentia  Bay,  where  my  vessel,  the 
Tubal  Cain,  Captain  Bradley,  is,  and  I  don't  want 
to  lose  any  time,  so  will  you  be  so  good  and  kind 
as  to  let  me  have  the  money  ? '  Just  like  that  I 
said  it,  as  nice  and  polite  as  any  Frenchman  that 
ever  drank  Christmas  wine  in  the  Cafry  Middy 
itself.  It  was  a  kind  of  a  lightsome  night,  and 
all  the  time  I  was  talking  I  could  make  out  some 
thing  of  the  cook's  face — 'specially  his  eyes,  and 
they  looked  wicked,  as  though  he  was  going  to 
soak  me  one.  They're  hell  on  good  manners, 
some  of  them  Saint  Peer  Frenchmen,  and  this 
one  was  a  killer  for  politeness — in  his  way,  Cap 
tain  Josh,  but  it  was  a  jeesly  aggravatin'  way. 

"  The  cook  smiles.     But    the    smile,  Captain 
Josh,  the  smile !     I   ketches   that    smile,  and  I 

264 


Clancy 

says  quick,  '  Cordong,  if  I  don't  get  the  money 
now,  the  Marguerite  goes  up  on  the  rocks.  Do 
I  get  it  ? '  Well,  he  dropped  his  politeness,  made 
a  swipe  at  me  and  I  made  one  at  him.  We  landed 
pretty  near  together,  but  me  a  bit  first,  maybe, 
and  he  goes  back  and  down  the  fo'c's'le  steps. 
As  he  goes  down,  I  hollers,  *  A  bah  with  you  ! ' 
'  A  bah,'  Captain  Josh,  means  c  to  hell  with  you ' 
in  French.  I  got  that  out  just  as  the  for'ard 
watch,  getting  onto  the  game,  steps  over  and 
swings  at  me.  I  sends  the  watch  after  the  cook, 
then  jumps  back  aft  to  the  wheel  and  says  to  the 
lad  there,  <  Get  out ! — 'raus  mit  sie  ! — allay  ! — 
a  bah  ! ' — I  wanted  to  be  sure  he  understood  me, 
and  he  went  for'ard  after  I  helped  him  along 
with  a  few  good,  swift  kicks.  The  Marguerite  all 
this  time'd  been  goin'  free,  straight  for  the  har 
bor,  but  when  I  got  clear  of  the  man  at  the 
wheel  I  hauled  her  up  and,  pointing  her  up 
plump  for  the  nearest  bit  of  shore,  I  lets  her 
drive.  She  didn't  have  but  a  cable-length  to  go, 
there  was  plenty  of  wind  and  she  laid  over  to  it 
fine.  When  I  made  sure  she  was  so  close  she 
couldn't  go  wrong,  I  put  the  wheel  in  the  becket 
and  waited  for  the  cook  and  his  gang,  who  was 
now  hopping  out  of  the  fo'c's'le  and  jumping  aft 
for  me.  They  came  piling  along  by  the  house. 
There  was  two  in  the  wind'ard  gangway  and  an- 

265 


Clancy 

other  one  to  looard — all  of  them  close  up  by 
the  time  I  let  go  the  wheel  and  was  ready  for 
'em.  I  went  for  the  two  to  wind'ard.  With  the 
first  one  I  buried  my  fist  somewhere  in  his  nice 
fat  jowls,  and  down  he  goes,  blocking  up  the 
gangway.  The  next  one  conies,  and  it  was  the 
cook,  and  he  had  some  kind  of  a  rolling-pin  in 
his  hand — not  a  pie-crust  rolling-pin,  for  them 
Frenchmen,  you  know,  Skipper,  don't  have  pies 
like  us,  but  he  had  some  kind  of  a  rolling-pin, 
and  he  steps  up  on  the  chest  of  the  fellow  who 
was  down  and  makes  a  swipe  at  me — lunges  at 
me  with  the  rolling-pin  and  misses  —  misses, 
Skipper,  and  then  I  had  him.  Then  I  had  him. 
Do  you  mind  the  time  I  stayed  ashore  and 
went  to  Carson  City  to  see  the  Corbett-Fitz- 
simmons  fight?  Mind  how  the  owners  kicked 
up  because  it  was  in  Lent,  and  me  fresh-fishin', 
and  the  market  away  up  ?  Well,  that  fight  was 
all  right,  and  old  Fitz  he's  the  real  thing.  You 
oughter  seen  that  fight,  Captain  Josh." 
"  I  wish  I  had.  Excitin',  warn't  it  ?  " 
"  Excitin' — a  dog  of  a  fight.  Well,  after  they'd 
been  fighting  about  an  hour,  old  Fitz  begins  to 
draw  him  good  and  begins  to  get  him  where  he 
wants  him.  I  was  close  down  to  the  ring  and 
could  see  it  all — Fitz  winkin*  at  his  wife — she 
was  there — over  Corbett's  shoulder,  and  Corbett, 

266 


Clancy 

because  he  didn't  have  the  stuff  in  him,  beginning 
to  look  blue  and  frizzled  gray,  like  an  old  had 
dock  too  long  out  o'  water.  They  came  to  the 
last  round.  Fitz  makes  a  bluff,  and  Corbett 
swings  and  misses — misses,  mind,  Skipper — just 
like  the  cook  at  me,  only  Corbett  didn't  have  a 
rolling-pin.  He  swings  and  misses,  and  his 
stomach  sticks  out,  and  Fitz — old  Fitz — lets  him 
have  it,  a  nice,  sweet  hook — in  the  stomach  you 
and  me'd  call  it,  though  'twas  the  solar  plexus  they 
called  it.  Well,  when  Fitz  hits  him  in  the  solar, 
Corbett  kind  of  collapses  and  lets  his  jaw  fall 
for'ard — for'ard,  mind,  toward  old  Fitz,  and  when 
it  does,  Fitz,  the  hefty  lad,  jolts  him  with  the  other 
hand  and  drives  it  back  aft  again.  Left — right — 
see,  like  this — and  Mister  Corbett  he  goes  down 
and  out.  Well,  I  said  to  myself  when  Corbett 
was  lifted  out  of  that,  if  ever  a  man  comes  at  me 
like  Corbett  did  Fitz,  that  I'd  know  how  to 
handle  him.  So  when  the  cook  makes  a  swipe 
at  me  this  time,  the  Fitz-Corbett  fight  pops  up 
in  the  back  of  my  head,  and  when  he  swipes  and 
misses  I  remembers  Carson  City.  He  near  lost 
his  balance  with  his  swing,  and  1  lets  him  have 
the  first  one  full  and  fair  in  the  stomach,  like 
Fitz,  and  then  when  he  kind  of  collapses,  same 
as  Corbett  did,  and  his  head  comes  for'ard  to  me, 
I  sent  my  right  across — sort  of  half  across — close- 

267 


Clancy 

hauled  you  might  say — into  his  jaw — and,  Skip 
per,  cordong  bloo  he  goes  down  and  out.  When 
I  landed  him  first,  he  was  standing  with  legs 
astraddle  the  other  fellow  at  the  after  corner  of 
the  house.  When  his  head  hit  the  deck,  it  was 
at  the  for'ard  corner  of  the  house,  and  the  Mar 
guerite,  Skipper,  has  got  a  pretty  fair  length  of 
house.  A  pretty  fair  jolt  I  call  that,  Captain 
Josh,  standing  to  one  side  and  looking  at  it  now 
in  cold  blood.  As  a  connosoor  yourself  now, 
Skipper,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Lord  in  Israel,  yes — and  then  what,  Tommie? 
What  about  the  fellow  to  looard  ?  " 

"  Him  to  looard  ?  He  came  at  me  afore  I  could 
turn  fair  around  from  the  cook  and  hit  me  with 
somethin'  side  the  head — a  belayin'-pin,  I  callate. 
That's  where  that  lump  came  from.  I  had  to 
tell  some  awful  good  lies  to  old  Spriggs  and  Har 
vey  to  explain  that  lump  and  bime-by  when  you 
meet  them  you'll  have  to  sort  of  return  evasive 
answers — you  know,  Skipper,  not  exactly  lie,  but 
dodge  the  truth  like — you  know.  I  told  'em  I 
was  hit  with  an  axe  while  tied  up  in  the  hold." 

"  What'd  you  tell  'em  that  for  ?  " 

"  Man,  I  had  to  fix  up  a  story  for  everything 
on  the  Marguerite  and  gettin'  started  on  my  story 
kinder  hurried  like,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment 
as  you  might  say,  I  had  to  go  through  with  it. 

268 


Clancy 

You  got  to  be  consistent,  Skipper,  in  everything 
you  do  if  you  want  to  win  out.  And  when  once 
I'd  said  a  thing  to  Spriggs — I  just  had  to  stick  to 
it  or  they'd  have  begun  to  think  maybe  that  I 
warn't  tellin'  the  truth,  and  that  wouldn't  do,  you 
know.  Why,  if  ever  they  thought  that  Tommie 
Clancy  and  the  French  captain  was  one  and  the 
same  man  !  — Good  Lord  !  they'd  have  the  whole 
British  North  Atlantic  squadron  up  from  winter 
quarters  in  Bermuda  afore  they'd  let  me  get  away 
— yes.  Just  let  old  Spriggs  get  to  considerin' 
the  outrage  to  his  dignity — him  a  representative 
of  the  Crown,  you  know — Good  Lord,  don't  you 
see,  Skipper  ? " 

"  That's  so.  But  after  that  fellow  hit  you  on 
the  head  with  the  axe  or  belayin'-pin  or  whatever 
it  was,  then  what  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  went  down  pretty  saggy.  But  I  gets 
up — as  soon's  I  could — shaking  in  the  wind  a 
little  bit  I  was,  but  I  soon  begins  to  find  my  head 
again  and  when  I  does  I  starts  for  him.  He 
makes  another  swipe,  but  this  time  I  dodges  and 
as  he  goes  by  I  ketches  him — and  let's  him  have 
it — oh,  Skipper,  but  I  gives  him  a  full.  Right 
under  his  port  ear  I  took  him,  Skipper — look, 
like  that,  see  ? — and  he  lifted  from  between  the 
wheel  and  the  cabin  hatch  to  over  under  her  lee 
rail.  By  the  Lord,  Skipper,  but  it  was  a  dream 

269 


Clancy 

of  a  punch,  every  bit  as  good  as  the  one  I  hand 
ed  the  cook,  and  under  the  lee  rail  he  goes." 

"  Solomon's  wives !  Lucky  he  didn't  go  over 
board,  Tommie  ?  " 

"  That's  what  he  was.  But  she's  got  a  pretty 
high  rail  the  Marguerite  has  and  he  stayed  aboard. 
'  Lay  there,'  says  I,  and  just  then  she  went  up 
on  the  rocks.  For'ard  she  heaved  two  or  three 
times — heaved  and  pounded,  with  the  planks 
grinding  off  her  and  her  booms,  fore  and  main 
both,  thrashing  the  water  to  looard,  and  then  she 
keels  over  and  lays  down  on  her  side.  At  that 
the  other  fellows  who  was  coming  for  me  turns 
and  flies  for  the  dory  over  her  side  amidships. 
'  Come  back  and  get  your  dead  ones,'  I  calls  after 
them.  It  was  lookin'  desp'rate  for  the  lad  under 
the  lee  rail,  so  I  picks  him  up  and  drops  him 
for'ard  of  the  house  beside  the  cook  to  wind'ard. 
The  other  lad — the  one  I  hit  first — had  got  up 
himself,  and  the  cook  was  beginning  to  know  he 
was  alive  again,  so  a  couple  of  them  coming  back 
helped  the  men  I'd  punched  into  the  dory.  I 
was  thinking  o*  jumping  over  the  stern  into  the 
other  dory  myself,  when  I  happens  to  think  of 
old  Spriggs  below  in  the  lazaretto.  So  I  dives 
below  and  makes  my  way  'round  in  the  water  in 
the  cabin.  She  was  filling  fast,  mind,  and  I  had 
to  drag  him  out  when  I  did  find  him.  He 

270 


Clancy 

thought  I  was  the  French  captain  all  the  time, 
d'y'see.  Up  to  the  very  second  I  showed  my 
head  through  the  lazaretto  door  after  driving  my 
boot  through  before  it,  he  thought  I  was  the 
French  captain — yes,  he  did.  I  grabs  him,  hauls 
him  out,  just  barely  saving  two  bottles  o'  cassy 
on  the  way.  That  was  presence  of  mind,  Cap 
tain  Josh.  I  saved  them  two  bottles  o'  cassy  in 
the  rush — the  last  case  aboard  I  minded  as  it  was 
floating  'round  on  top  of  the  water  in  the  cabin — 
the  water  up  to  our  chests — hauls  old  Spriggs 
up  the  cabin  steps,  drags  him  out  on  deck,  heaves 
him  into  the  dory  and  jumps  in  on  top  of  him, 
near  breaking  his  ribs  and  nigh  bursting  the  bot 
tles  besides,  and  puts  off  for  the  harbor  where  we 
finds  Billie  Simms  and  gets  aboard.  Billie  took 
us  to  Good  Hope  and  from  there  Spriggs  took 
us  here.  There  now,  what  do  you  say  to  that, 
Captain  Josh  ?  " 

"  Whew-w — "  said  Captain  Joshua. 

"  Yes,  and  on  the  way  back  here — me  rigging 
up  a  romance — one  with  a  plot  in  it — to  Collec 
tor  Spriggs  to  account  for  me  being  aboard  the 
Marguerite.  And  tryin'  to  keep  Billie  Simms 
in  order  on  the  way  over  while  I  was  telling  it 
and  then  later  tryin'  to  answer  questions  from 
the  skipper  of  the  Sleepless.  My  soul,  Captain 
Josh,  but  my  head's  fair  buzzin*  with  the  strain 

271 


Clancy 

of  it  all !  And  I'm  dry,  Skipper,  dry,  which  is 
very  natural,  and  maybe  even  a  Bible  man  like 
yourself  will  admit  it  is  very  proper,  too — under 
the  circumstances — under  the  circumstances,  mind. 
Won't  you  now  ?  Of  course  you  will — you'd 
have  to  be  fair-minded,  and  there  being  just 
enough  in  this  bottle — the  bottle  I  saved  from 
the  wreck  for  you — s'pose  we  have  another  little 
touch  ?  What  d'y'say  now  ?  A  little  touch 
to  finish  the  bottle  ?  Oh,  Skipper,  hush  now., 
Hush — hush.  Here  you  go  now,  stow  that 
away  with  the  other  good  stuff  gone  before — 
gone  but  not  forgotten.  Ain't  that  good  now, 
Captain  Josh?  Ain't  it?  I'll  bet.  I  knew 
you'd  like  it.  There's  lots  of  things  you'd  learn 
to  like,  Captain  Josh,  if  only  you'd  let  yourself 
try  them.  What  you  want,  Captain  Josh,  is  a 
little  more  looseness-like  in  your  soul — take  the 
lock  off  it.  You  want  to  be  a  little  more  of  what 
they  call  in  Saint  Peer  the  bong  vee-vong. 
Yes,  sir,  and  an  able  vee-vong  you'd  make,  too, 
because  you've  got  it  in  you.  And  here's  to 
you,  Captain  Josh,  here's  to  you.  Here's  hoping 
you'll  load  this  brig  so  deep  with  herrin'  that  you'll 
have  to  plug  her  scuppers  up — and  a  good  market 
after  you  get  home — skaal,  as  the  Swedes  say — 
slainte,  as  Tom  O'Donnell  used  to  say — prosit,  as 
Dutch  Harry  used  to  say — vive,  and  in  the  words 

272 


Clancy 

of  four  other  languages — Chinese,  Chinook,  Choc- 
taw,  and  whatever  the  other  was  I  had  in  mind — 
which  I  don't  remember  now — Skipper,  here's  to 
your  damn  good  health." 

"  Drink  hearty,  Tommie,  drink  hearty,  and 
by  the  Lord  in  Israel,  Tommie,  you're  all 
right." 

"  No,  Skipper,  I  ain't  all  right.  But  I'd  like 
to  be  and  I'm  ready  to  start  in  right  now.  If 
you  had  a  pledge  handy  now  I'd  sign — I  would 
— and  keep  it — yes,  sir,  keep  it." 

"  I'm  condemned,  but  I  believe  you  would, 
Tommie." 

"  I  know  I  would.  But  we're  getting  senti 
mental.  Let's  get  back  to  earth.  How  much 
herrin'  do  you  callate  you  got  up  on  the  scaffold 
and  on  deck,  Skipper  ?  " 

"  Oh,  maybe  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  two  hun 
dred  barrels." 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  we'd  better  be  getting 
'em  below  ? " 

"  I  dunno.  I  was  callating  to  let  'em  stay  a 
while  longer.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Let  'em  stay  ?  Good  Lord,  no.  Get  'em 
below  and  make  way  for  others.  This  bay's  full 
of  herrin'  right  now  and  I  know  where  they  are. 
I'll  tend  to  them  herrin',  Skipper,  and  you  turn 
in  and  have  a  kink  for  yourself.  I  know  you've 

273 


Clancy 

been  sitting  up  nights  on  account  of  me,  but  you 
just  forget  all  that  now.  I'll  have  the  gang  mak 
ing  the  tackles  sing  in  ten  minutes  and  don't  you 
worry.  Just  wait  now  till  I  get  into  my  oil 
skins  and  watch  them  herrin'  disappear  like  ice 
in  the  Gulf  Stream — yes,  sir.  Let  me  see  now — 
where's  my  oil-skins  ?  Oh,  yes,  here.  So  long, 
Skipper.  Turn  in  now  and  have  a  kink  for  your 
self,  while  I  go  on  deck  and  take  charge." 

Up  the  companion-way  went  Clancy  and  soon 
the  creaking  and  pounding  and  general  hullaba 
loo  from  above  told  the  skipper's  experienced  ear 
that  that  able  seaman  was  keeping  all  hands  on 
the  jump. 

"  And  if  he  does  get  drunk  now  and  then  " — 
Captain  Josh  was  preparing  to  turn  in  for  the 
sleep  that  Clancy  had  so  soothingly  advised  him 
to  take — "  even  if  he  does,  the  Lord  knows  he 
don't  mean  no  harm  by  it.  And  when  he  does 
get  to  work  he's  good  as  three.  He  cert'nly 
knows  his  business.  Listen  to  him  now." 

From  the  deck  came  floating  down : 

"  Jer  swee  le  capitaine  de  la  Marguerite, 
De  la  Marguerite,  de  la  Marguerite — 
Jer  swee  le  capitaine  de  la  Marguerite, 
My  Marguerite  so  belle. 

My  Marguerite,  my  Marguerite, 
With  the  face  so  sweet  and  waist  so  neat, 
274 


Clancy 


And  eyes  !  Mong  doo — her  eyes  ! 
Oh,  eyes  like  stars  in  a  well." 

"  Listen  to  him  now."  Captain  Joshua  kicked 
off  his  boots.  "  Marguerite,  I  s'pose,  is  the  last 
girl  he  made  love  to.  There  he  goes  again." 

The  somewhat  husky  but  ever  tuneful  baritone 
went  on : 

"  Last  time  I  saw  my  Marguerite^ 
My  Marguerite,  my  Marguerite— 
I  said  to  her,  «  Cher  Marguerite, 
You  certainly  are  belle.' 
She  kisses  me,  I  kisses  her, 
She  coos  to  me,  «  Oh,  oh,  mong  coor  I ' 
I  holds  her  tight,  says  I,  '  My  gem,' 
Says  she,  « Je  t'aime,  je  t'aime,  je  t'aime ! '  " 

"  What  in  the  name  o'  Tophet  that  c  Je  tern, 
je  tern,  je  tern/  is,  I  don't  know.  But,  O  Lord, 
what's  the  use  of  trying  to  keep  track  of  what's  in 
Tommie's  brain."  From  force  of  habit  Captain 
Joshua  took  a  look  at  the  barometer  on  the  wall. 
"  Twenty-nine  six.  There'll  be  a  breeze  soon. 
But  Tommie'll  have  everything  snug  before  that 
comes.  ,Coat  o'  Joseph,  but  he's  off  again." 

'«  And  face  ! — and  feet  ! — 
Mong  doo  ! — her  feet  ! 
And  eyes  like  stars  in  a  well, 
And  eyes  like  stars  in  a  well." 
275 


Clancy 

"  Them  eyes  must've  been  wonders,"  mur 
mured  the  skipper  of  the  Tubal  Cain.  He 
rolled  yet  farther  into  his  bunk,  turned  his  face 
to  the  side  of  the  vessel,  pulled  the  blanket  over 
his  head  and  decided  to  forget  Clancy  and  go  to 
sleep ;  but  the  last  thing  he  heard  before  he  did 
finally  get  to  sleep  was  an  even  more  beatific 
reference  to  the  wonderful  eyes, 

«'  And  eyes  like  stars  in  a  well— oh,  hell — 
And—  eyes—  like—  stars—  in—  a—  w— e— 1-1— 1." 

And  by  that,  even  though  he  did  not  long 
remain  awake  to  think  it  out,  the  master  of  the 
Tubal  Cain  knew  that  Clancy  was  himself  again. 


THE  END. 


276 


from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


